


Soul Grown Deep

by GriffinCastle



Category: Call of Duty (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Established Relationships included, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Illness, Modern AU, Psychological Horror, Really damn gay constantly, Romance, Slow Burn, Southern Goth, Suspense
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-08
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2019-07-08 16:22:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 45
Words: 138,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15934094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GriffinCastle/pseuds/GriffinCastle
Summary: A Southern-gothic story where tragic circumstances cause Edward Richtofen to move back to his childhood home. However, just as he arrives, a string of disappearances and gorey murders begin.Edward finds that he must prove his innocence, however, his worsening health and obsession with a certain river only brings the opposite effect.((Updated every Saturday!))





	1. Prologue (Hum)

It was just after dark when the moving van pulled off the driveway and passed the gates of a tall-standing, almost antebellum-style, home. The uncomfortable warmth of an early summer had set in, and the trees complained against the soft breeze. Likewise, the calls of cicadas buzzed in the distance, and the lights of other homes reflected on the pavement from just down the street. The house itself gave an impression that it was once a place of beauty and elegance, however now, it had the appearance akin to a spook house. Large weeds sprouted all over, the porch was dusted and rotting from years of humidity and water damage, and a tall, twisting, Banyan tree stood like a silhouette from its place in the backyard.

Edward Richtofen was left standing on the porch as he surveyed the area, certain that it would be less intimidating in the morning. But even so, he was willing to put in the work to clean the place up. The doctor's only wish was that his family was with him to see their old home once again, however he shook the thought from his head. He was already anxious enough and did not need to consider old memories in this moment.   
He quickly stepped inside desperate for air conditioning, and switched on the dim lights. The hallway was lined with cardboard boxes that stacked tall, and the German found himself unsure of where to begin. Despite this, he was quick to decide once he saw a box labeled 'bedroom,' as he realized how exhausted he was. Driving over several state lines takes a heavy toll on the body after all.

He settled for the couch as a resting place, and collapsed face-first into the cushion. 

Despite his intentions, he could not sleep.   
With futility he checked his phone once or twice for texts, knowing full well that he hadn't left anyone behind. The man tossed and turned while his mind tried to organize itself among the clutter. It did not help that a distant church bell would sound like rolling thunder every 30 minutes. Edward had forgotten about that. He finally resided to give up once he heard a creaking noise from the floorboards on the second story. Now he definitely wished he hadn't come alone.

‘I think I will just pretend that is the wind….Yes, old houses like this tend to call out to those who are alone,’ the doctor assured himself.

Instead, Edward climbed from the couch to take a look at the backyard. It was not much of a chore since he hadn't had the chance to see it yet. He was soon pleased to find that it was far more pleasant and charming than the front yard. The great tree stood like a protector, strong and watchful overhead. There was evidence of a red stone porch as he stepped further out, contented with the potential beauty and space it could provide once the weeds were pulled. To his left he recognized the old garden where he and Samantha had once attempted to grow tomatoes, but had failed miserably. 

It was a nice memory.

"I suppose it is not all bad," he muttered softly in his careful voice.

Suddenly, the field ahead had caught his attention. Fireflies hovered and drifted idly, lighting the tall grass a beautiful chartreuse hue. Almost as if possessed by the spirit of his younger self, he dashed into the field with excitement. It had been at least 15 years since he last saw a firefly. The tug of burs and hitchhiker seeds did not slow him as he sprung forward trying to grab them in the cup of his hands. It took a moment until he realized, had someone been watching, that they would think he looked like a complete idiot. The man instead chose to just stand among the sprites and appreciate the beauty.

In this moment of silence he recalled another memory of doing the same as a child. However, Samantha often encouraged his behavior and they would set the bugs in jars to light up their room at night. As his mind loitered in the past, he heard the familiar trickling of a river the two would play in all the time, even inviting their parents to join them at their 'secret spot' once or twice. Richtofen gazed into the treeline and tread in a dream-like state inward. It was green and dense with the fresh aftermath of spring. He wondered if the foliage muffled the deafening sound of cicadas and water, or that perhaps he already adjusted to the ambiance of the area.

After some time he came upon the river and gazed into the deep water before him. Although it was clear enough to see the reflection of his tall and stocky figure, he noted with disappointment debris like cans, cigarette butts, and tires drifting here and there. He made a mental note to fish the litter out sometime soon. He also had noted that the river was far more thin than it used to be this time of year. Typically the summer would melt the snow off the peaks of the nearby mountains, and caused the water to become wild and engorged. Perhaps a blockage had suppressed it? This was no problem though, Edward was glad he did not have to worry about flooding anymore.

Just as the bright moon peeked behind the clouds and illuminated the water, he realized a haze hovering just above the surface. Although this could be written off as fog, what was beneath unsettled him even more. A perfect circle, a dark and endless pit, wide and encompassing, rested. 

 

It made his stomach clench with discomfort.   
It made him taste bile on his tongue.   
It felt wrong. 

 

As he avoided staring into the void-like abyss of this sinkhole, he glanced to the face of the Blue Ridge Mountains. 

 

There, as if perfectly carved and cut, a great hole punctured its way through the cliffside- exposing the stars and clouds the summit would shield. The man's eyes could only widen as it began to hum a song the reverberated off the trees around him.


	2. Art of Shinrinyoku

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward's first day in the house. Mostly about feelings.

When Edward Richtofen woke up, he was back on the couch, a thin blanket draped over his awkward body. Funny that he hadn’t recalled unboxing the sheets, or returning home for that matter. At the very least he remembered watching the black river and gaping mountain. Indeed, Edward found his dreams that night had focused on this turbulent dark water. 

Rushing, pulling, leading. 

Something told the doctor that his guttural feeling towards the hazy pit sunken within was important, as he was one to believe that visions of a subconscious dreamer spoke with judgement unclouded. (Or at least half-so.) 

Still, he was unbothered by this in the fog of morning which layered his thoughts. Odd sights and lost time were a custom which integrated in the doctor’s everyday life, and Richtofen found himself more concerned with his growling stomach.

Moving to rub the sleep from his eyes, he groaned in annoyance upon seeing palms covered in dirt and green. Even under his nails, he picked out dried mud with futility. It were as if he were trying to dig his way out of his visions. Likewise, his pants and sleeves were stained with nature’s brushstrokes. Edward forgot exploration came at the price of cleanliness, but in all honesty he figured this to be a fair trade. 

Forgetting food, he opted for a long bath, but this meant he had to go upstairs. On his own. Where he heard skittering and creaking, those unresolved sounds. The German reached in his pocket and clutched a folded knife in his fists, a hand-me-down from his mother, as well as a flashlight to coerce the prowling shadows to flee.

Climbing up the moaning stairs, Edward purposefully thudded his light against the hand-rails, hoping the noise would stir whatever lurked. However, when the man reached the top, he was instead hit with a heavy and unforgiving stench.

“Good lord it smells like an apothecary!” Richtofen gasped, shielding his nose from the attack on his senses. This only left Edward to taste the putrid scent of medicine and doctor’s office on his tongue. He had no idea why this smell lingered, his father, although a doctor like himself, never worked at this home. He squinted as he flipped on the lightswitch, illuminating the room for only a brief moment before a light bulb popped and sent its fragments to the floor. 

Flicking on the flashlight with haste, Richtofen noticed fresh outlines of furniture drawing their way through the dust. He wondered if someone had walked off the unguarded property with something important, yet somehow there were no footprints. Only dragging lines of clean linoleum, like someone was sliding around on their socks to conceal their identity.

This could simply be paranoia of course. If one were lifting something particularly heavy, the doctor rationalized, they would need to shuffle their feet. Not that this mattered of course, he wanted to empty the place anyway. 

Suddenly he heard a shuffling. It sounded like tiny paws with outstretched talons tapping their retreat deep into the closets and empty boxes that littered the rooms. For lack of better expression, Edward noped the hell out of there. It was always the fools that went looking for spirits that fell first… at least in the movies.

“I’ll just call a trapper to remove whatever’s in there,” Richtofen breathed at the bottom of the staircase, air which lacked any poison, “it’s probably some common vermin.”  
And like tossing a grenade in a foxhole, he chucked a few air fresheners into the halls from a safe distance. A shower in the guest bathroom would do just fine.

—————————

There is something utterly pathetic about sitting on the tile of a shower floor, letting the steaming water tamp down one’s forehead, knees held tightly against one’s chest. With the water temperature it was a poor man’s sauna, but Edward appreciated this. It cleared his sinuses and opened his pores, making him feel as if he were shedding temporal things that restricted a shallow sense of purity. 

Likewise, as pathetic as it sounds, the shower felt like a hug which the doctor deeply craved. Richtofen was very particular when it came to touch, but the past several months he had spent in isolation created a starvation of affection. He just wanted something to prove that he was corporeal and part of this earth. The physicality need not be romantic or familial either, yet, he wouldn’t mind finding another man in this town to share tender intimacies with. Though not quite what he was looking for, the rushing shower head made a fine substitution. 

Upon request of an old therapist, the German attempted to pick out any sliver of good graces he could find. It didn’t necessarily have to make him feel better, it was more like an affirmation that a higher power was not mercilessly torturing him. Richtofen had often juggled with the bitterness of that potential reality. However, the technique allowed him to rest easy knowing he was not some sort of martyr to a purpose beyond his perception. In the end, it was simply good manners to accept the little gifts from unseen guests.

Now scrubbed with new perspective and clarity, he tossed on a linen button-up and began to throw open all the windows. The wind that rushed in caused the curtains to flow like ghosts caught in wire, or rather, caught in the poles that anchored them. The dust stirred around the doctor as the room bathed in golden light, and he let out a grand stretch. This was Richtofen’s psychological reset button to the day that had begun so uncertain.

“I am here to feel like myself again!” he declared, “not fuss over fleeting memories!”

Edward then pushed up his sleeves to his elbows, exposing the remnants of scars from years past with no inch of shame, “I’ll start with the front yard of course, and work my way inward.”

 

No more haunted houses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shinrinyoku is a term for the Japanese practice of "Nature Therapy," or "Forest Bathing."


	3. Unchecked Anachronism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lot of flirtation as Edward meets a handsome mechanic. Let the gaymes begin.

"JESUS CHRIST!!" Tank Dempsey shouted as he slammed his head on the hood of the car, quickly removing himself from the blaring sound of the alarm.

"MISTY, I TOLD YOU TO WAIT UNTIL I GAVE THE SIGNAL." He continued to call over the deafening sound.

She switched the car off and complained in her western twang, "You put your hands up!”

"That's because I touched hot cable, that is NOT the signal!" the man rubbed the back of his head before continuing, "If I get a concussion I'm blamin' you."

Misty only let out a small chuckle while she leaned over the steering wheel, unintimidated.

 

Tank loved working in the garage, in fact, fixing things always seemed to come naturally. And although he didn't own the place, he had hoped one day he could. The shop actually belonged to Misty's family, however, she didn't seem too interested in keeping it. She had other dreams of moving out west, despite knowing it was another one of those towns you could never truly get away from. Many people would leave once they found their independence, only to return and settle down. However, she knew Tank loved his job, and promised to sell him the shop so she could afford her ambitions. He deeply valued her friendship, and trusted she could be one of the few to push through the membrane. 

The auto shop itself was moderately small, with a waiting room and enough work-space to hold three cars. Though cluttered with tools and equipment, the shop was better described as an organized mess. The exterior was painted in a modest fashion, and gave an aesthetic that reminded one of the 80s. This was mostly attributed to the colorful and old fashioned metal plates that advertised obsolete brands of oil and tires which lined the inner walls. Not to mention an old touch tone mounted to the wall, whose only purpose was to make Dempsey look busy to customers observing from the window separating the rooms. 

The rumbling electric fans overhead spun lazily as the sound of raindrops began to tamp down the steel rooftop.

"Damn, there goes today's plans." He frowned, "Sorry, girl. No park today."

By the side of the room lay an old golden retriever resting on a pile of pillows. She only wagged her tail idly, keeping her chin rested in comfort. Dempsey smiled.

The small drizzle quickly turned into a downpour, with heavy sheets of rain cooling the black pavement. The man held his breath as a lightning strike boomed nearby and shook the faulty light fixtures. To which Daisy stood lazily and pressed her nose to her master’s hand. 

“Thanks, girl.” He messaged her ears with his thumb.

His mind began to wander as he followed the terrain’s natural contortions. The cliffs that jutted out in the distance, foggy and blue in the downcast sky, seemed erilly lifeless this morning. However, tracing down the hill from which the auto shop stood, the streets rushed with people going about their daily lives. Dempsey enjoyed fantasizing details about the thoughts and motivations of strangers, it felt as though he were weaving a story. Although he never considered himself an artist in any sense of the word, he still liked to get out of his own head once in a while. 

His eyes caught a bridge that crossed one of the mobius roadways. It was strong and secure, beautiful and historic, solitary and green. This bridge carried the tragic legend of a mother who hung herself after losing her daughter. Yet, 100 years later, her spirit still lingered and manifested upon the call of her name. As a frequent visitor, Dempsey figured it was just a scary story to sell ghost tours. Just a pretty bridge, yet, Tank felt it certainly looked like a nice place to die.

The man’s attention shifted to a place that he was actually afraid of: Tunnel Road. It had no scary stories or ghosts, but moving through it was downright unsettling. If one hadn’t guessed by the name, the entire road was concealed within a concrete tunnel. Traveling through it, with walls lined by seamless strings of guiding light, made the mechanic believe he were traveling at erratic and booming speeds. Like he was moving somewhere far, far, away. He always felt different when he came out the other end of the void which swallowed thought. This was likely psychosomatic, but Tank avoided this road whenever he could.

 

Just as he continued gazing out to the rolling hills, a figure of a man dashed to the front door, quick to get out of the rain. Dempsey had to double-take as he watched the stranger walk in. 

He was absolutely stunning. 

The customer was very tall, with clean cut hair the color of mahogany trees, and a darkened mustache lining his upper lip. He observed the man's sun-kissed skin, tanned and sweet, and noted he dressed in a manor which stood out from the washed-out drab of his usual customers. In fact, he looked extremely well kept and sophisticated. 

And with that, he nearly launched himself in front of Misty, who was already making her way to help the customer.

"Hold up I got this one, you just.. Figure out the wires on the Toyota, alright?"

She shrugged, seldom did she have patience for customers anyway. Especially if they had no idea what they needed in the first place.

The American dusted himself off and cleared his throat before entering the waiting room.

"Hey there! How can I help you?"

The man looked up and approached the counter, "Yes actually. I uh-,” he seemed to lose his train of thought as soon as he looked to Dempsey.

He went on more nervously, with a crack in his voice, “I think my brakes have been cut… I mean, I can break but it feels unstable, and I’m not too keen on plunging off a cliff-side today."

Tank was not only taken aback by the unexpected accent, but more so the German's captivating eyes. One was green as emerald, while the other was a swirl silver and deep cobalt that rivaled the constellations. 

'Woah.' was all the American could think.

"...Excuse me?" the taller man became red, embarrassed he might of said something wrong.

Dempsey quickly realized he was speaking out-loud. "Oh, well, your eyes are cool. 'Never saw anything like that."

"Thank you..." he mumbled, still flustered. "Can you help me then?"

Giving a wave he said "Of course, that'll be no problem. ‘Sounds like you’re losing some brake fluid is all.”

He paused for a moment, "..But there are 4 or 5 cars in front of you, so you might not see your car for a few days." 

The American knew very well that the repair could be done in less than a few hours, hell, only 1 if Peter was here. The truth of the matter was that Tank was being very strategic in hopes of fate falling in his favor. He did not want to let this man go without at least a phone number. While he considered this, he looked to the side to find Misty leaning on her elbows with the stupidest, most exaggerated smile on her face through the glass. He shut the blinds on her with the drop of the string before the guest could notice.

Although startled by the sudden movement, Edward did not pay any mind. He was more stressed at his own urgency. "Is there anything you can do?! Today is my first day, I cannot be late!"

Tank feigned deep thought, "Welllll there ain't much, the only car rental place is a long way from here. If you want though, I could give you a ride?"

"No no no, I cannot accept that. I can just wal-," a crash of lightning cut him off while it illuminated the sky a blinding white. Dempsey appeared visibly shaken, but collected himself before the man finished awkwardly, 

"Well, I suppose if it’s no trouble..."

"I'll get my keys," he laughed, "just fill in this paper work so we can take your car in."

 

When he re-entered the garage he was greeted with his co-worker harboring a smug look on her face, and dangling the car keys over his head. Which, frankly, was not hard to do given Tank's smaller stature.

"Tisk tisk, Dempsey. What on earth are you doing?"

"Shut up!" he barked as he jumped up to retrieve his keys. "You KNOW you don't see a guy like that walk in every day."

"Is this love at first sight?" she exclaimed with false curiosity.

“I didn’t give you this BS when I set you up with Jessica!”

“Hey, I could have won her over with or without your help!”

....He only squinted, "Just look after Daisy, ok?"

"No problem," Misty smiled, more genuinely this time.

 

Tank rejoined the foreigner at the desk and looked over the papers. 

"Edward Richtofen, huh? I'm Tank Dempsey!"

He shook his hand confidently and Richtofen let out a small chuckle, amused. The two then rushed into the small pick-up truck before they were completely soaked, and with dripping fingers Edward punched the University address into the GPS.

 

Edward rather liked this man, but he was unsure if this was 'Southern hospitality' or if the mechanic was flirting.

He honestly hoped this was flirting. 

‘Tank’ Dempsey was certainly his type anyway; muscular, yet a soft figure accented by baby fat, who carried himself with such confidence that made Edward admire him even more. He wore a white t-shirt and jeans, with his work shirt tied around his waist, which did wonders to accentuate his broad shoulders. The freckles that dusted Dempsey's nose and cheeks captivated him as well, and were spread like stars shining their way through a sunrise. He even noticed the ghost of a small mustache budding at his upper lip. Though not impressive in the slightest, he thought it looked cute in a juvenile sort of way. Even his hair, too, was a beautiful shade of caramel brown that had shown natural highlights of blonde sparkling in the light. 

Edward felt a bit of shame at imagining himself running his fingers through those soft locks. In fact, he felt even more shame at the hopes that something would come out of this. He just could not shake this man’s smile from his head. All he wanted was to walk in, get his car fixed, and walk out. Here, the doctor was left to wonder if this was loneliness or genuine attraction.

Despite that, Richtofen continued to keep his curiosity. Although Tank had been smiling, there was an undertone of anxiety resting beneath the American's skin. Edward knew a thing or two about anxiety. Specifically, he noticed: any time another bolt of lightning scarred the dim sky. It was rather odd that a man his age would be afraid of thunderstorms, but then again Edward hated storms as well. He could only associate it with negative thoughts.

Regardless of this mystery, the doctor appreciated the gesture, and ultimately decided he was looking into this too deeply. He gazed at Dempsey, who hummed along with the voice sing-talking on the radio, and the mechanic broke the silence.

"Not much of a fan of eye contact, are you?"

"Is it that noticeable?" 

"With eyes like those? Definitely."

The German became flustered.

"But there ain't nothing wrong with that,” Tank assured.

He went on, "So, you must be new here. I haven't met anyone with that accent before… German?"

"Well yes, but I actually used to live here, about 20 years ago I believe. But I only returned a few days ago."

“Huh. ‘Probably why someone messed with your car. People here are tight knit and standoffish to newcomers,” he theorized.

“One cannot help their annoyance, with or without reason,” Edward muttered with a sneer.

“Well, I don’t think you should worry too much about that. They’ll change quicker than you think.” Dempsey cracked a grin to put the German at ease.

Richtofen hoped this was the case. He really wanted to be liked, but no matter what, people only seemed to give him odd looks. Perhaps they recalled his family, or maybe they could somehow read his sexuality. Maybe it was just the house he had moved into, as he himself was aware that it looked straight-up haunted.

“What brings you back, anyway?"

Richtofen immediately dead-panned, as if on auto-pilot, "Unforeseen circumstances."

Tank was quick to pick up on this. "Oh. Gotcha." He had hoped he didn't make Edward uncomfortable, so he switched on the turn of a heel,

"But hey, a job at the college? What are you teaching there?"

"Some classes in the medical degree program under Doctor Schuster. At least, until I can get a job at the hospital." he said nonchalantly as he gazed out the window and raced the droplets which trickled down the glass. 

"A doctor too? You’re something special."

Richtofen did not reply, but instead turned to look at the American. All he asked for was a bit of kindness, and this man threw it around like it was nothing. It meant a lot.

 

Before they knew it, they arrived to the University.

"Here." Dempsey picked a Chinese takeout menu from the glove compartment and began scribbling ciphers. "Text me when you need a pick-up, alright?"

He handed Edward his number, who put it neatly in his bag. 

"Thank you, Tank. I hope this wasn't too much trouble."

"Nahh, it was already quittin' time anyway." He flashed a charming smile, of which Edward returned to the best of his ability.

 

And opening the door, he dashed to the stoic building as quickly as possible, ignoring the holes manifesting in the sky.

 

Meanwhile, Dempsey reached to the passenger seat to find an antique switchblade left behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Helen's Bridge and Tunnel road are both real places in Asheville, North Carolina.


	4. Isaiah’s Dilemma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dempsey is searching for a lot of things, huh?

The air was warm with the aroma of comfort food overtaking the local diner. Savory smells of bacon and sausage collided with the sweet scent of cinnamon. Dempsey knew with certainty that Nikolai Belinski was an artist when it came to cooking, at least, enough so to trigger a conditioned sense of hunger upon smelling his recipes. One could immediately feel at home in a place like this. 

Nikolai never seemed to change much over the many years they had known each other. He was ironically large and imposing in stature, despite his friendly voice and underlying melancholic tone. However, Dempsey always supposed the Russian worked hard for his life, and therefore never questioned his nature. Tank knew very well that his friend was happy, especially since his recent engagement.

To Dempsey’s left, Takeo sat typing away on his laptop, busying himself with classwork as usual. Nikolai was one lucky S.O.B., Tank often thought, to have someone so intelligent and beautiful for a fiance. He had long tresses of raven hair that he tied neatly in a bun. This was complemented by his russet skin, and finely toned muscles of a disciplined trainer. So impressive so, that often Tank assumed the man’s wardrobe choices were made to show off. Not that he, or Nikolai, particularly minded this. Even Takeo’s almond eyes were a dark taupe that were mystic and dark enough to inspire curiosity. Hadn’t Dempsey been so deathly loyal to his Russian friend, he would have asked him out by now. 

 

Here, in the bustling diner, the three held an unspoken rule that they meet every morning. Some friends, like Misty and Jessica, came by when they could. Some, like Dempsey and Takeo, would always be there. Others, like Peter and his friend Smokey, needed some convincing. And although Daisy was not allowed in, she always sat outside and rested underneath a bench seated by the storefront. Gathering like this was a nice way to share the gossip of the neighborhood and harbor a sense of community. 

Nikolai was very protective of the latter.

 

Yet today, Dempsey was excited to share his chance encounter with Edward Richtofen, whom he had met only yesterday. Not only this, but he figured his friends would have advice on how to pursue the strange doctor. Despite a flirtatious personality, the American was oblivious to such matters.

“So,” Dempsey began, leaning over the counter top where Takeo worked.

“So?” Replied he.

“I met someone.”

“Oh? Who?”

“Yeah! His name is Edward Richtofen. He actually just moved into your neighborhood.”

“I don’t think I’ve seen him. How did you meet?” Takeo said, neatly closing his laptop.

“Fate!” Tank cheered.

 

“What is this about fate?” spoke Nikolai, who moved closer from his place at the register.

“Tank has met someone,” Takeo spoke with humbled excitement.

“So soon?” The Russian raised his brows, “After you and-”

His fiance cut him off with a silent gesture whose message was essentially: ‘shut the hell up.’

Nikolai did so, and went on, “Well! They must be good. What has you so interested?”

Dempsey seemed to become embarrassed, and scratched at the back of his neck, “I dunno, he’s kind of odd. Like, I want to figure him out, you know? And he’s super hot, like damn, he has eyes like I’ve never seen.”

Nikolai laughed at this, “Sounds like your type! You are a mechanic of people.”

“I know right?! He’s crazy smart too, a real doctor and everything!”

The true intention of Nikolai’s remark flew under the American’s radar. Dempsey, although well meaning, often drifted to people that seemed lost. It was a subconscious association between two things he loved: people and cars. If he could take an old beat up truck, change it’s oil, give it a shine, and make it look factory new, why could he not do this with people? People are essentially vehicles in the end, vehicles that need love and care to work at their best capacity. This was a word of caution from his Russian friend, as Tank often got himself into unsavory relationships. His desire to help often came at the sacrifice of his own well being.

Takeo squeezed the American’s shoulder proudly, “I’m glad you’ve found a new partner.”

The soldier went bright red, “No no no! We just met! He might not even be interested!”

A flustered Dempsey made the two laugh, to which he complained with a whine, “Let me live guys.”

 

Just then, the glass door rang as it swung open, and Jessica rushed in. She was wearing her work uniform; a minimalist black blouse and matching skirt, with sparkling jewels in her hair and around her neck. The bartender was petite too, and kept her hair in short blonde curls tucked behind her ears. One could tell she took very good care of herself.   
The three men greeted her kindly.

“Hey!” She spoke, “Sorry big guy, I’m in a bit of a hurry. Can I get some eggs and pancakes to go?”

Nikolai nodded and stepped into the kitchen to do so, while Dempsey inquired.

“Where are you off to?”

“I have to drop off some food for Misty before work, it was kind of last minute.” She yawned.

“...Peter didn’t show up?”

“Guess not?” The bartender shrugged. She did not know McCain very well, but could assume that he was supposed to open up shop. Dempsey however, became very anxious. He had not seen his friend yesterday either, and knowing Peter’s secretive nature, he could be anywhere.

“Maybe I’ll go to his place and check on him.” Tank considered out loud.

Nikolai soon appeared with Misty’s breakfast, and Jessica paid hastily.

“Thanks guys! I hope you find your pal, Dempsey.” she waved as she left. And Tank retreated inside his own head to think.

 

\--------

The road to Peter’s cabin was lonesome, with one lane of dirt and rubble which sent tremors through the cabin, and carried Tank out of the city and into the tall groves. The trees that passed would cause the rays of light to flicker between the branches, and cast tall shadows that pointed west. While Daisy stuck her head from the window and playfully took deep whiffs of pine and birch, Dempsey was still in his head. Peter had always said, thought Tank, that one day he wanted to hop a train and go wherever it took him. He always seemed possessed by wonderlust, to forget everything and travel, and when he wanted to start fresh, he could just move on again. Besides, McCain was a very depressed man ever since he was discharged from the army after a debilitating head injury. The army was his life, and all he had in his family line to be proud of. Now all he had was Dempsey.

Tank hoped that this wasn’t the case, and that he’d just find McCain asleep on the couch. In fact, Dempsey struggled to process that he would rather find his friend hurt, than to learn that Peter skipped town without telling his best friend. Equally so, the two had hit a few rough patches in their relationship within the past few weeks. There were arguments, sour words, bitter glances… but a few days ago they made amends. Dempsey thought the trouble was over. Dempsey thought they could stay friends.  
As they came to the driveway, Daisy became excited by the familiar scent of Peter, and began to bark and wag with such enthusiasm that made her master laugh. Tank soon opened his door, only for the retriever to trample over his body and make her exit from the driver’s side.

With the air knocked out from his chest, Dempsey complained, “You’re only old when it’s convenient, huh girl?”

As Daisy ran off to smell the trees and dance in the tall grass, Tank began to cautiously circle the home. The stone walls and wooden frames were as they always were, weathered and mossy, and the unkempt garden out front was overrun with weeds and dandelions. Nothing seemed odd here, as Peter was never one for gardening. Or home improvement for that matter. However, every window seemed to have their lace curtains drawn, as if to shut the world away, as if to isolate.

Making his way to the front of the house, Dempsey decided to let himself in with a key that was kept under the mat. 

“Idiot,” Tank muttered, “even burglars would know to check here first.”

Daisy joined him as he pushed through the door and slowly removed his shoes, “McCain? You here?” he called into the darkened hallway. 

There was no reply.

He treaded warily while his companion seemed to mimic the quiet steps, and the two surveyed the state of the home. The walls were adorned with countless photos and certificates. Pictures of his family, photographs of Dempsey, Smokey, and himself from their army days, and even medals from his recon work were dusty and untouched. The mechanic could not help but notice a frame facing backwards, which he found to be Peter’s purple heart. Figures.

The carpeted floor, meanwhile, was littered with old beer cans and old take-out boxes. There were stacks of magazines as well, marked by a man who was disinterested in modern technology. It actually became tragic, to see how far Peter had lost himself to depression. The lack of attention to cherished memories or one’s own cleanliness spoke to Dempsey. He began to curse himself for the way the two fought, there was obviously something wrong, and he had probably made matters worse.

In the shared kitchen and living room, old transistor radios sat atop a wooden dining table. The red light of the power button illuminated the room eerily, and Daisy began to whine. Dempsey, too, became nervous. Peter was very particular of how he treated his equipment. The old-fashioned and outdated radios were always returned to their boxes after McCain finished tweaking their mechanics and listening out for anything exciting. Not to mention he would never leave them on and upset the fragile wiring.

“Peter?” Tank called again, peeking into the kitchen. Although dishes and unopened canned food lined the countertops, there was no indication that he had been there recently either. Even so, Dempsey’s eye caught a cup of coffee left out and half-full. He knew his friend also deeply hated letting things go to waste.

The last place the man had to check was the bathroom and bedroom, so he whistled for Daisy to join him.

“C’mon Daze! Daisy-girl!” 

But she refused to move any further.

“Daisy! Come!” he said more sternly.

She only paced anxiously and held her ground.

Dempsey became even more unsure, it was as though she knew something was wrong. The soldier began to wish he brought his gun.

Grabbing a bat perched against the wall, Tank cautiously pushed the door before walking in. To his relief, nothing stirred in the hollow room. Yet to his dismay, Peter was nowhere to be seen. There were no footprints, no signs of struggle, and no signs of activity. The sheets were simply strewn about on the unmade bed, while prescriptions sat toppled on the night-stand. Upon moving closer however, he found a familiar steel case sitting opened atop the mattress. It was Peter’s gun, or rather, it was supposed to hold Peter’s gun. The box itself was empty.

This was another upsetting factor weighing on the man’s nerves. After Peter lost cognitive abilities from his injury and became suicidal, it was court-ordered that he surrender all his weapons for the good of his own safety. Knowing now that he kept at least one of his pistols, and that he had taken it wherever he had gone, puzzled him.   
The story told by the subtle cues which remained in the house seemed to become more and more tangled within itself, stringing Dempsey’s nerves like a mandolin.

 

\--------

The drive home was quiet, with Dempsey listening sitting in silence, and Daisy dreaming in the back seat. The moon was a fingernail in the sky, giving the two indication that he had spent his entire day off searching for his missing friend.

Tank was unsure of what exactly to do about his findings. If Peter wanted to disappear, Dempsey would have to accept that no matter how much it hurt. He could not force his friend to stay, or even be his friend to begin with. However, if something happened, calling the police could get his friend in trouble as well. McCain had taken his gun when he had no license to carry anymore. Yet, it was odd that all worldly possessions remained in the home, not that they held value or anything. It simply made no sense to not even take his wallet for an impulsive trip to the North. 

Soon, Dempsey began to blame himself. Maybe, in the end, it was too hard for Peter to keep seeing him. This, he could understand.

 

As Tank continued, he drove down Edward’s street to his own home, which lie a few blocks over. Although it was not in the nicest part of town, nor a high class neighborhood like Edward’s, he still enjoyed his tiny one-bedroom apartment. Considering this association, it naturally led to him thinking about the German. He wondered if he should invite him over sometime, He wondered what that would be like, He wondered what it would be like to share a bed with him, He wondered what his kiss felt like… And soon Dempsey slapped his palm to his forehead. The American truly had it bad for the doctor, as he almost felt guilty of so. Perhaps, he thought, he should try to get to know Richtofen a little better. Lest this become a vacuous obsession.

 

As Dempsey passed the antiquated home of his crush, he slowed down when he spotted Edward himself, dashing from his driveway and chasing a cat.

“Wait! Come back!” The doctor called as he chased it into the street, and stopped just short of Dempsey’s truck.

Tank rolled down his window with a press of a button, “Hey, Eddie! What was that all about?”

Richtofen followed the grey figure with his eyes as it dashed into the brush of the woods, and spoke, out of breath, “I found a cat making its home in my attic. I just wanted to see if it belonged to anyone.” He then laughed, “I nearly thought I had a raccoon infestation!”

“Well, I didn’t get a very good look at it. I’m sure it’ll be alright though.”

“I suppose,” Edward sighed and gazed to the American bashfully, “Now, what brings you here at this hour?”

Dempsey realized he probably looked super creepy, rolling up to his house, unannounced, and in the darkness of night. No matter if his intentions were well-founded or not, he was quick to stutter out an explanation. 

“Oh! I live really close by, I was just heading home is all.” Tank laughed nervously.

“Really? That actually makes me feel like less of a burden to your schedule, I think.” The doctor confessed.

“You’re no burden no matter the distance!” Dempsey assured. Edward’s face became flushed at the uttered kindness.

The American smiled softly, “I’ll… see you tomorrow?”

“...Thank you, Dempsey.”

 

And the old church bell tolled in the distance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The book of Isaiah is primarily centered around freedom from exile.


	5. Ode to Hospitality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Music is therapy! Edward bonds with his new friend.

“If you want you can come with me?”

Edward scrunched his nose, not at the thought of spending time with Dempsey, but more so that Dempsey wanted to spend time with him. Especially since they had only been acquainted for almost a week now.

“Me? Go to the garage with you?”

The American was embarrassed, “Welllll yeah.. I mean you said you don’t get out much. I thought you’d like a change of scenery. ‘Beats sitting alone in the house, you know?”

“I suppose you’re right,” he confessed, “but I don’t want to get in your way.”

“You won’t! Unless you intend to block out the sun with your freakishly tall body.”

“Oh ha-ha. Maybe you’re just freakishly short.” Richtofen teased.

“Hey, at least you know I’ll always look up to you!” He winked.

“Oh my Gott.”

 

“....Sooo, is that a yes?”  
“...I’d love to.”

 

The moment the two walked in the door Edward lit up like the very stars.

“Who is THIS!” he cooed, kneeling to greet the sweetest golden retriever he had ever seen. She wagged her tail and pressed her greying muzzle to his clothes, taking in deep whiffs.

Dempsey laughed, “That’s my dog, her name is Daisy.”

“She’s beautiful!” he spoke as he played with her ears. Speaking to Daisy again he asked lovingly, “Are you Tank’s little helper? Huh?”

“I take it you’re a dog person?”

Edward lifted himself, still looking down at Daisy with warmth, “you could say that.”

 

Dempsey gestured at Edward and Daisy to follow him into the garage. However, the American was surprised when he saw Misty doing engine work on an old Ford.

“Hey Misty, wasn’t McCain supposed to be in today?” he asked as he pulled on his work shirt.

“Awww, is it that disappointing to see me?” she joked before answering, “But yeah he was, and God damn, Peter would not answer his phone for the life of him. Hell, he didn’t even come in yesterday. I just picked up the shift so you wouldn’t get too overwhelmed.”

“I’ll go check if Smokey knows where he went. They must of been drinking!” he laughed nervously before gesturing to Richtofen, “This is Eddie, you don’t mind if he hangs around right?”

“Tank I told you to quit bringing your boyfriends here. It’s a liability.”

“He’s a grown man he ain’t gonna break anything.” Dempsey had not denied their relationship in this moment, or even appeared to be angered by the tease. The doctor wondered if he was fortunate enough that the object of his affection liked men too, but whatever the case, he was glad Tank was not close-minded. He knew he had decided he was looking too deeply in their relationship, but one cannot lead a heart from desire.

Misty gave Edward a once over and looked at him really hard, circling him like a vulture over carrion. (Or rather a hawk over prey.) The mechanic then put herself uncomfortably close to his face, looking him straight in his mismatched eyes and squinting as if she was counting every pore. Despite the proximity, he darted his gaze anywhere but her own. 

Finally, she broke the awkward sizing up of her guest and smiled. “Alright, I see why Tank likes you! Just don’t touch anything.”

“I promise,” the German rose his hand as if swearing on a bible, smiling back anxiously.

Edward decided to take his place sitting atop a cleared counter, right next to Daisy, who settled in her usual bed of pillows.

“That’s Misty Briarton by the way,” Tank introduced, “she’s a bit of a joker but she always knows what she’s doing!”

“And this McCain fellow?” the doctor tilted his head.

“He and I go way back, we used to be in the Marines together. Though, Peter’s a bit too familiar with the bottom of the bottle if you get what I mean. But don’t take that as a judge of character, he’s really smart.”

Although Edward was used to being called Dr. Richtofen in professional settings, he finally understood why the Soldier opted to call him by his family name now and then. It was just military courtesy, and frankly he found this endearing. 

He then looked to see a photo on the wall of Dempsey and McCain in uniform. Tank looked different, as his hair used to be much shorter. Even his face was clean-shaven, giving the impression that he was younger when this was taken. Edward soon felt a tinge of jealousy. The two looked really close. He instead shifted his attention at the version of Dempsey that worked before him, and compared the two like a ‘find the difference’ puzzle. 

Edward then found a stereo set sitting on his right side.

“Do you know if this works?”

“Sure does!”

He fiddled with the white noise and static between clarity, before finding a channel playing a reverberating guitar accompanied by a warm voice. Richtofen leaned his back against the walls and closed his eyes to focus on the low hum.

Dempsey, meanwhile, was left to his own devices. Yet, he kept glancing at the man so deeply in meditation. He always felt that to find comfort in silence was the closest form of affection anyone could get. To leave someone in their own head, unafraid of the empty spaces they could be filling. However, he would be lying if he didn’t simultaneously appreciate the contours of the doctor’s relaxed body, particularly the way his throat tilted back and exposed a prominent adam’s apple. He bit the corner of his lip as his mind wandered to scandalous places.

“Kind of sad, don’t you agree?” Edward sighed.

“Huh?” 

“The lyrics I mean, to say ‘I want to go home, but this is my home.’ It is sad.”

Tank scratched the back of his neck, “I dunno, it sounds kind of romantic?” he stopped when he realized he had just smeared oil all over himself.

Edward only laughed at this while he tossed him a rag, and continued to defend his thought, “I think if you’re with someone you love, you wouldn’t ask to go home. It sounds like the speaker is not happy with the home they currently have.”

“I didn’t think about that I guess,” Dempsey said thoughtfully. He wondered if this was projection on Richtofen’s part. Even so, he understood that music often gives words to those who don’t have their own.

Just then Edward stared at the ceiling, pupils shifting as if watching something very carefully. Tank looked up to see what had his attention, and saw nothing but drywall.

“What are you looking at?” He still strained.

“Oh nothing, just thinking.” Edward hummed, and closed his eyes once again to focus on the ambient sounds of drilling machinery.

 

After another few moments, Dempsey wondered,

“What kind of doctor are you anyway?”

“A hematologist,” he nodded simply.

“So, like, blood and stuff? “ the American clarified, “Why that specifically?”

“Hm, you know I have no idea. I was just drawn to it I suppose? It’s satisfying.”

“Ominous…”

Edward nearly giggled, but repressed the need to do so, “Well, what about you? What has you so interested in cars?”

“It’s fun!”

“Surely something about this got your attention.”

“Well you like fixing people, or at least analyzing them, right? That’s how I feel about cars.”

“Cars are very different from people, and you seem too sociable for somewhere so quiet.”

Dempsey gasped melodramatically, “So you are analyzing me!” He then smirked, “But seriously. I think I took too many hits to the head to have any brains left, at least, to be a doctor.”

Edward frowned, “You are very smart, Tank. You shouldn’t talk about yourself that way.”

He only shrugged, to which the German further explained with more passion, “I bet if we switched places right now, I would have no idea what I was doing. I can’t even change my own tires.”

“What?! That’s really sad. You have to let me teach you sometime.”

In the distance, Misty called, “Awwwww! How sweet!”

And Dempsey tossed an oil-soaked rag at his friend, “Quit makin’ it weird, Misty!!”

 

The two spent the rest of the evening together: chatting away, occasionally snacking on chips and soda, humming along to the popping speakers, and felt that despite how opposite they were in nature, they were still miscible. 

The drive home was quiet and cool, the windows rolled down to bring in the sweet smell of young saplings on a warm breeze. Richtofen watched Daisey standing in the truck bed from the rear-view mirror while he reflected. It felt as though everything was whole. As if Maslow's hierarchy of needs physically manifested, and Edward knocked down every single pillar.

Tank pulled up the driveway, “We should hang out again soon!”

“I would love that. Thank you, Dempsey.” the Doctor smiled softly.

Tank left waving one hand out his window before driving away, while Edward stood until he could no longer hear the crashing cylinders of the engine.

 

Now alone, Edward resolved to get some proper rest since the anxiety of the day had past. Thinking himself to death was one of Richtofen’s many flaws, so he often spent time keeping his mind as far away from introspection as possible, (rather it be by taking several depression naps or to sort through the clutter of unpacked boxes.) Edward did not even know why he hoarded half of the contents. Everything seemed to be only of sentiment, things that belonged to his family and exs, or just useless trinkets he was reluctant to throw out. He wished he could shed everything that physically attached him to this earth. Perhaps I could become a mountain man instead, he often considered. Being among the presence of his ghosts dragged him down from his emotional high. 

He finally shut the lights off and stared at the ceiling fan until the rolling circles lulled him into an almost hypnotic sleep. Edward was much more comfortable since setting up his bed frame at least. 

His breath slowed.   
He un-clenched his jaw.   
He let his shoulders relax.   
And soon he finally found solstace. 

The only crack in his moment of peace, was quite literally the cracks in the ceiling. Countless craters manifested themselves further and further until the room became engulfed. It was a mosaique of fractured reality. He rubbed his eyes aggressively and wished them away. 

It made him feel as though he was an heir of black holes, the way that the hallucinations would fester in his peripheral. But even so, the challenges that his condition brought were nothing new. Since Richtofen was very young, cavities would dig their way into his sight, and carve out perfect circles that were either pitch black, or ambiguously dark enough to trick the eye into seeing tiny figures moving about. Sort of akin to how, when one closes their eyes, flecks of light will still shine through; giving the appearance of static and wriggling silhouettes. 

He was annoyed that Dempsey had noticed his wandering eyes while he sat on the countertop of the workshop. Edward was just grateful that he played it off so smoothly. However, the hallucination he saw his first night back, that being: an entire mountain-side missing its core, was something he hadn’t witnessed before in terms of size and complexity. He wondered if the chasm from within the river and the humming songs had been his imagination as well, but noxious fog had never been a feature in his delusions. Typically he could tell what was real and what was not, but the visceral response to the river haunted his dreams. He wanted to know.

 

Edward quickly realized that he had gone unmedicated for over 2 weeks, not by choice of course; he simply lost his pill counters in the shuffle of the move. With an irritated sigh, Richtofen pulled out his phone. His eyes stung with the sudden brightness lighting up the dim room, and he began to look for local psychiatrists. 

“I should have done so my first day back. No wonder I’ve been so neurotic.” The man scolded himself. 

A few search engine pages later, Richtofen had found that there were only 3 within sensible driving distance. The decision came easy as he further looked into their practices. Either an appointment in a hospital, a stuffy office, or a house surrounded by acres of solitude? Obviously the house. He would hate the neighbors to judge him even further. He still harbored partial bitterness that their hostility led to his car getting vandalized.

 

He quickly typed up an e-mail to schedule an appointment with Dr. Clemens, and sent it with a distinct tinge of apathy.

 

And one new text appeared from Dempsey:  
‘See you tomorrow Eddie :-)’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maslow's hierarchy of needs is a theory revolving around needs that have to be met to establish motivation. First is physiological needs, then safety, then belonging/love, self-esteem, and then self-fulfillment. Then one's full potential can be realized.
> 
> Feedback is super appreciated, this is my first time writing something so long. I want to know if you like the direction/are interested in where it's going!


	6. Family Portrait I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How Edward met his family.

Edward knew the grown-ups were talking about him in whispered French. They thought he could not understand the tongue, but he easily could. However, the boy could offer no defense from the other side of the headmaster’s door. 

 

Here, Edward was only 9 years old and both small and trim for his age. Likewise, he dressed in a modest fashion that came with being in the foster care system. Particularly, a polo bearing the logo of the antiquated boarding school, accompanied by short khakis and dress shoes. Despite this adherence to dress code, the boy’s dark curls still remained, unkempt and soft. Eddie would become childishly irritable and uncooperative if it were groomed in any sort of ‘affluent’ style. He had lost his parents only a few months ago, and inherited very little. The invitation into this school was on his own abilities, not the wealth of a family.

Suddenly, the shrill ringing of the school bell sent crowds of children dashing out for recess. Most of whom, gave not a single glance to the young foreigner seated against the wall. Edward would not be allowed to join them; not that he had any friends here anyway. All he could do was swing his legs from the tall plastic chair. 

 

Eddie knew the grown-ups were talking about him, but he was much happier to be here than with the rowdy classmates that shoved his frail figure about the playground. 

 

A crawling centipede caught his eye as he pounced to the tile floor for a closer look.

‘He doesn’t pay attention.’

Eddie grabbed it by the tail and dangled it between his fingers, observing the creature as it twisted and snapped it’s jaws. It was green and iridescent in the light. 

‘He is aggressive with other children.’

With a curious giggle the boy set the animal in his palms, letting it weave and thread itself delicately through his fingers. It tickled him with each wave of its tapping tendrils.

‘He throws tantrums in class.’

The insect crawled up Edward's arm, to which he followed every precise movement. As if counting the steps. Scolopendra polymorpha, at least he was fairly certain of so.

‘He disrupts class with imaginary sights.’

Reaching in the deep pockets of his uniform, Edward pulled out a stick he had stowed away. In case, the child figured, he needed to fight any monsters today. The millipede climbed on and snaked its winding body around the twig. Now his knight’s sword held a mystical familiar to protect it.

 

Just then Richtofen heard the click of the door opening from behind. Out stepped the headmaster, his social worker, and two others he had never seen before. He said nothing as he shrank away from the figures, and hid the “sword” behind his back.

One of the two strangers, a middle-aged man in a lab coat and chrisp dress-clothes, kneeled down with a friendly smile. 

“You must be Edward.”

The boy lowered his mismatched gaze warily. This man was able to speak German.

“I’m Doctor Ludvig Maxis. Your teachers have told me you are very bright.”

Rather than respond, Edward pulled the twig from behind his back, and shared the grand discovery with Ludvig as his own personal welcome. 

His social worker immediately interfered, “Edward Richtofen, show some manners!”

The man assured Eddie and his guardian with a laugh, “That’s quite alright, I promise.” 

He returned his attention to the child with sincerity, “What a beautiful creature you’ve found. You know, my daughter Samantha loves bugs too.”

Doctor Maxis then ushered the second stranger, a little girl with freckles and dark hair as long as her modest white dress, before the boy.

She waved shyly, but instead of an introduction, Edward moved the insect close to her face with a very serious curiosity about her insight.

“WOAH!” she marveled, getting closer to observe the twitching creature. Samantha then looked at the shining skeleton, and then Eddie’s eyes, and then the insect, and Edward again. He only moved back, startled by her intensity, and shielded the creature from her sight.

“That’s cool,” she smiled, “it’s two different colors at once. Just like your eyes.”

Ludvig made a hardy laugh, “Samantha your startling him!”

She only grinned mischievously. To the boy’s surprise, the two did not seem frustrated with his silence. Instead, they seemed to understand him without words. Eddie already felt at ease knowing he could be himself.

“Now Edward, I’ve heard your favorite subject is science.”

Samantha quickly chipped in, “It’s our favorite too!”

“That’s right, and we were wondering if you would like to be my student. Although you will still remain at this school, you won’t have to worry about your classmates anymore. Just you, Samantha, and I.”

Now they had Richtofen’s full attention. He looked urgently to his social worker for validation.

She nodded, “How does that sound, Eddie? Doctor Maxis is being very generous.”

The young foreigner began to bounce on his heels and wave his free hand excitedly, a wide smile on his face.

Samantha giggled and bounced with him, “I can tell that’s a yes!” and the two kids began to dance around each other with glee.

The doctor stood from his crouched position, and assured the headmaster, “thank you for calling me here. I promise I will see that Edward can become a model student, even with his special needs.”

Maxis then out-stretched his hand to Eddie, “would you like to see your new classroom?”

The boy grabbed his hand after a moment of hesitation, while Samantha moved to her father’s side. 

The three walked down the echoing hallway together, swinging their arms.

 

And Edward would no longer feel the need to hide.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If it's not abundantly clear, Edward is autistic. He was non-verbal as a kid too.
> 
> Again, I will literally die for you if you share any feedback. Thank you!


	7. The Oats We Sow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “How can I ask to see Richtofen every day without making it look weird?” Dempsey asked himself.

The church bell tolled.

 

For the next few days Dempsey continued to give Richtofen rides to and from work, which was the only thing to get the German out of bed anymore. The occasional stays at the workshop were extra special in doing so. 

He found that the creeping sense of loneliness and isolation still possessed him as a newcomer. Yet despite this, his new friend would take longer and more scenic routes on their drives just to get a little more time together. Richtofen appreciated this patience and consideration greatly. Besides, he would be lying if Daisy’s ears flapping in the wind did not bring a smile to his face. In fact, just yesterday they enjoyed a drive through the downtown district:

 

“What do you mean you don’t like breakfast food?” Tank almost sounded offended. “It’s like having sweets every morning!”

Richtofen chuckled, “It’s not that! I never have time is all, I’m always in a rush these days.” He reclined a bit, “But I suppose stuffing myself with sugar would make me nauseous anyway.”

“What if you ate it for lunch?”

“Mmmm tolerable?”

“You know, I actually have a friend that owns a diner? Breakfast food all day! Kind of like a Denny’s, but not cursed. You should meet him, or all the guys really.”

“Meet your friends?” he nearly burst out in laughter.

“I’m serious! They already know about you anyway. I think they’re kind of looking forward to it.”

“Oh.” He pressed warily, “What have you told them?”

“Nothin’ wild if that’s what you’re asking. Just that you moved into the spook-house down the street, and some kids cut your breaks for it.” Dempsey smirked sarcastically.

An angry “Hey!” was all he could retaliate with.

 

To think Dempsey felt comfortable enough to introduce the German to his friends. Edward couldn’t believe that. Though, it was nice that the American seemed to wish for Edward to put himself out there. Dempsey was very pushy since all the doctor wanted to do was go to work and lock himself in his home. At least, thought he, their comradery was not only bound by convenience. However, this caused Richtofen to battle with himself further, wondering if his attraction was romantic or if he simply felt good getting out of the house once a day. Perhaps even, if the feelings were mutual. 

Working at the college with Schuster and his students was all well and good, but he found it to be more about talking “at” them, rather than talking “with” them. Not technically a proper relationship by his own standards, he’d say. Then again, at least he found himself well liked in the academic crowd. Everyone held him in high regard, rather it be by his reputation, his family name, or the devotion to his practice. He wished he could say the same for those in his neighborhood. 

Dempsey, having driven to the home frequently, mentioned that the locals had indeed considered Edward’s house haunted. The two learned that rumors in which the home was vacant, only to be visited by spirits once a year, had actually been the younger Richtofen and his family visiting their summer home. Likewise, the eerily quiet years that followed was, in truth, when they had all moved back to Germany. It was purely coincidental that their lack of return had aligned with one of the worst landslides to hit the town in years. He was slightly annoyed to learn that teenagers would often trespass on the property on the pretense of a dare, only to smoke weed and scribble swear words and pentagrams into the walls of his childhood. 

 

Still, his mind at this very moment was filled with dread. Today would be their final drive together, as his car had been fully repaired. To Edwards discontent, reality never changes based on the ability to accept it.

It was just then that he watched Dempsey’s truck pull up the driveway from the window, and instead of the usual honk he signaled for his arrival, the American came to the door. Edward, embarrassed by the condition of his home, dashed into the hall to kick and shove as many boxes from his guest’s sight as he could. He waited a few seconds after the doorbell rang to give the illusion that he wasn’t waiting at the door for his “friend” to arrive.

“Hey Eddie, good to see ya!” Dempsey smiled, “I wanted to give you this back before I forget again.” He outstretched an antique switchblade to the doctor.

“Oh!” Edward said with relief as he took it gingerly in his hands, “I had no idea I lost this. I actually feel bad I didn’t notice it was gone.”

“I hope you don’t mind that I gave it a little polish, it was covered in some brown chips or something. Is it valuable or..?”

“Valuable to the soul I suppose,” he ran his digits across the intricate golden patterns that marked the sheath, “It’s a family heirloom.” Edward interpreted Tank’s attention to something so intimate as a romantic gesture. 

“Thank you for taking good care of it, Dempsey.”

The German then glanced to the parked truck, “where is Daisy?”

“She’s here, just laying down is all.” He gave a whistle and clapped, “C’mere girl! C’mon and say hi!”

The retriever perked its ears and jumped from the truck bed, energetically so, despite her age. She trotted up to the door but immediately stopped as if an intangible barrier was holding her back.

“C’mon Daze, it’s alright!” Dempsey called again, but to no avail. Instead, she paced by the blockade that only she could see, and began to whine.

“Huh. Weird. She’s usually really obedient.” the man scratched his chin, “Well, we should be heading to the shop now anyway. She’s probably worried we’ll be late!”

The doctor nodded and slid on his shoes while perched in the door frame. Richtofen loved dogs, and was profoundly certain that they understood things humans could not. Thus, Daisy’s unwillingness to approach made his skin crawl. Either there was still an animal lurking in his home, or an apparition of some sort was keeping her at bay. 

…..Honestly, Edward hated that he was giving in to the rumors. So instead, he settled that the thick scent of fresh paint had upset her nose, (regardless of rather he believed this or not.)

 

As the three drove to the blasting radio, Dempsey was unnaturally silent. As if thinking very carefully. The truth of the matter was: he contemplated on how to ask if they can keep hanging out. Tank was oblivious to the mutual attraction, and therefore attempted to piece together a sentence that didn’t sound creepy or invasive. The last thing he wanted was to scare the timid doctor off. However, to Dempsey’s favor, it was Edward that was able to speak first.

“You said your friend owns a restaurant?”

He turned down the radio as to not shout over the noise, “That’s right, a diner.”

“What is he like?”

“His name is Nikolai. He’s a big guy. Russian if the name didn’t give it away.” He paused for a moment and considered how to describe his complicated friend, “Kind of a ‘looks like he could crush you, but is actually a big softie’ type of vibe. He takes care of everyone pretty well.”

“Everyone?”

“I have more than one friend, Eddie.” Dempsey smirked.

He laughed, “no no, I mean who else is there?”

“Hmm... Well I’ve told you about Peter, and you know Misty. We’ve actually been best friends since Elementary school. Hell, I don’t know where I’d be without her! There’s also her girlfriend, Jessica-”

“Girlfriend as in friend that’s a girl, or?”

“Girlfriend-girlfriend. They’re dating.”

The german attempted to let out a sigh of relief as inconspicuously as possible. All this time, he had the slight impression that Tank was interested in Misty. It was pleasant for his own sake to learn it was simply good-natured teasing. Dempsey, however, was still able to perceive the sigh, and asked suspiciously:

“You don’t have a problem with that, do you?” 

Edward, alarmed, began to stutter pathetically, “No! I mean, of course! No that’s not what I mean. I mean there is no problem. I am too.”

“You’re dating Jessica?!? How?!”

“NO! I mean. Ugh.” he pressed his temples, he wasn’t quite ready to come out, but frankly he set himself in this position. “I mean, I’m gay too.”

“Oh.” was all Dempsey said. Yet internally, he was having a fiesta. Seldom was the object of his affection ever capable of returning his feelings. Or, in other words, he was often cursed to fall for straight men. Perhaps, just this once, fate was looking out for him.

Meanwhile, however, Edward was screaming in the deep recesses of his brain. ‘Oh?!?....OH?!? THAT’S IT?!?’ he panicked. He soon began feeling as though the air was being sucked out of the cabin, so he fiddled with his knife to keep his anxious fingers busy. ‘SAY SOMETHING-SAY SOMETHING-SAY SOMETHING,’ he begged internally.

Tank broke the awkward pause.

“Jessica’s cool though, but she’s a bit of a spitfire so don’t get on her bad side,” he laughed, “she works down at the bar.”

“There’s also Nikolai’s fiance Takeo. He’s awesome! Actually, he studies at your college so you may have seen him. Super chill and thoughtful,” the american added with a wink and a nudge, “and not hard on the eyes either.” It became apparent that Tank was intentionally trying to draw a question from Edward’s lips.

“Wow, a fiance?” Richtofen eased up.

“Yea, they’ve been dating for a real long time.” he spoke proudly, “but the wedding’s next summer so Tak can finish his degree.”

 

Suddenly, Richtofen was able to put the pieces together in the most wonderful way he could imagine. He connected the dots, those dots being the people Tank held dear.

 

“Now, when you said Nikolai looks after everyone-”

“He doesn’t want anyone to experience what he dealt with back home. Especially on account of who he loves.That’s all.”

“...that’s very noble of him.”

“That’s just the kind of person he is.”

And Richtofen, cautiously, carefully, pealed the inquiry from his nervous tongue, “...Are you gay too?”

“No.” Dempsey said casually, but just as the doctor felt his soul disintegrate out the window and into the pines, the American clarified.

“Actually, I’m Bi.”

Edward slumped back in the passenger seat. He wanted to shake the mechanic by his collar and say ‘DON’T SCARE ME LIKE THAT EVER AGAIN!’ until Dempsey could no longer breathe.

But of course, he didn’t.

“What’s with the reaction?” The soldier raised curiously.

“Ah. I just find it comforting. That there’s someone here that gets it. I mean, the last thing I expected was to find a community of people like me. Especially in a town that gives such conservative impressions.” The German half-lied.

“I can’t say I feel any different. It’s cool to know I can be real with you.”

“And I, you! I’m actually quite relieved that’s out of the way.”

“Besides, Nikolai is right. People like us need to stick together!”

 

After what seemed like the longest conversation of Edward’s life, they finally arrived to the auto shop. Richtofen gave a wave to Misty as Dempsey pulled on his work shirt.

“Hear anything from Peter yet?” he spoke as he did so.

“Sorry dude, nothin’ at all,” she frowned.

“Hm. I guess I’ll try Smokey’s place again..” was all the American could mutter. He then led Daisy and Edward to the garage, and made certain that he would be the one to open the door and present his work.

“You ready?” he grinned.

“Don’t tease me!” the taller man whined.

There, when Dempsey opened the door, the doctor became starstruck at the work before him. Not only was the car repaired, but it was freshly painted a mocha brown with stylish strips of white along the doors. Even all the little dents and scuffs had been buffed out.

“Dempsey!” he exclaimed, circling the small vehicle.

The mechanic scratched the back of his neck bashfully, “Well, you know. Anyone who says appearances don’t matter are BSing. I figured a good shine will make people less scared of you.... No offense of course.”

“None taken!” Richtofen gasped, impressed by the craftsmanship. Dempsey was probably right too, showing up in a dusty old sudan, that appeared as if he played pinball on the highway, did little for first impressions. Hell, the beat up car was practically inviting to vandals, and he was never one to care for new cars despite his ability to afford it. He felt emotion swell in his chest. Tank Dempsey truly did want him to feel welcome, and he obviously cared for his comfort. The stirring thoughts nearly made Edward cry, but he refused to do so.

“Surely I have to pay you for your time!”

“Nah, consider it a housewarming gift.” the mechanic shrugged.

“Dempsey, you’re amazing.” 

“I know,” he laughed, “now get to work before you’re late.”

“You’re right, but I will still find a way to repay you. Perhaps I can get you breakfast at your friend’s place?”

“Oof, you know me too well,” he gripped his chest playfully as if struck by an arrow, “you know I can’t turn down free food.”

“10 o’clock then?”

“I’ll text you the address.”

 

On the ride to work, Edward beamed and cheered a cry of victory from the muted doors of his car. To love, was to grant himself purpose; but to feel loved, granted him strength.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Didn't you know? Gays travel in packs..... Next chapter is very info heavy so I apologize in advance.  
> Comments are always appreciated!


	8. Wild Sweet Orange

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A healthy step in the right direction?

The morning sun was an iris in the sky, painting the atmosphere pink and blue. Edward drove east, straight into this blinding light, to meet his new psychiatrist. He couldn’t help but curse whoever designed the car’s visor, as it did little to shield the sun properly.

 

Richtofen was always a light sleeper, as the slightest stirring of birds were enough to pull him from his dreams. He was unsure if this was paranoia arming him to be ready for anything, or simply restlessness; but whatever the reason may be, he still considered himself a morning person. It was nice to get certain obligations out of the way before the world would fully awaken. Equally so, its satisfying to be the first one to see earth metamorphosize into living beauty. It was an honor. 

Opposed to the lonely and uncertain darkness of night, this type of isolation was nice. At least, thought he, the sunlight seemed to make the fields illuminate the sparkling dew drops on grass. The road would become an ocean of rolling hills that he sailed.

 

The German finally reached the brick fence and blackened metal gates of the antebellum home, which appeared much like his own. However, the residence was much larger and shaded by drooping willows, as well as a vast expanse of fields and gardens outstretching several acres.

Rolling down the window, he pressed the mounted buzzer, and without hesitation a boisterous English accent quickly answered.

“Hello-Hello! You wouldn’t happen to be Edward Richtofen, would you?”

“Hello,” he stuttered, shaken by the sudden volume, “That’s right. I’m here for-“

“Well, what the hell are you waiting for? Come in! Just park out front and we’ll get you settled.”

An odd first impression, but at least he seemed friendly.

 

Richtofen drove past the fence and came upon the large doors of the estate. Out front, he saw a man sitting cross-legged on the porch, smoking a cigar. The stranger was old and grey, yet held a dignified posture and an heir of regality. It were almost as if the man was a ghost. He even dressed like he time-traveled from 1920’s Louisiana. Edward could not imagine wearing a three piece suit in this heat. 

Here, the German also spotted an old tire swing that hung from one of the twisting willows. He had a hard time picturing the man before him using it. It just looked plain silly.  
Richtofen clutched the blade resting in his pocket, squeezing out a sense of comfort, and approached.

The other man however, seemed deeply disturbed by Edward’s appearance. His eyes shot up and down frantically, as if the German were the actual ghost here. In fact, it almost looked like a glare of recognition.

The incredulous look quickly changed as the man lowered his lids and scowled.

“Hello, you must be Doctor Clemens!” Edward sheepishly extended his hand.

However, the apparition said nothing, and only stared at the palm before him.

The awkward tension was heavy as Richtofen lowered his gesture, “I am sorry for being a few minutes late. I got a bit lost.”

Still no response as he ashed his cigar.

 

Just then, the double doors behind him swung open.

“Ah, Edward Richtofen. Nice to finally meet you.” Another man exclaimed in his accented voice.

“Oh, are you Doctor Clemens?” Edward was embarrassed, “Sorry I thought-”

“Don’t even worry about it! Come in, come in,” he ushered the young man through the door, “You’ll have to excuse my husband, he’s a bit of an asshole to strangers.”

The pair stepped into the sophisticated living room, where two leather chairs sat adjacent, separated by a coffee table. Not only this, but the room was lined with paintings, as well as a great window illuminating the wood linoleum and bathing the room in light. Every corner was dusted and cleaned, and the scent of cut melon and linen wafted in the air.  
“Can I get you anything? Some coffee or tea, perhaps?” he hummed as he poured a small boiling kettle out for himself.

“No thank you,” he assured,“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you Doctor Clemens.”

The old man took a seat and steeped his tea, “Please, just Doctor Monty.”

“Of course, Doctor Monty.” Edward took his place parallel.

 

This psychiatrist was already unlike any the German had seen in his long life. The fine attention to aesthetics, his manner of dress (that being: a green tweed jacket and dress pants), and experienced aura did not seem to match his personality. At all. Doctor Monty was extremely casual in how he spoke, at least, enough to spit profanities and mean it. And yet, he seemed to watch Edward a little too long, breaking past professional curiosity or good manners. To which, the old man openly acknowledged:

“Excuse my gaze, you’re not at all what I pictured you to be,” he sipped, “those are some eyes you have there.”

“I get that a lot.” Richtofen laughed nervously.

He set down the tea cup, “Now tell me, what brings you in search of therapy?”

Edward reached into his pocket, “I recently moved back here and I need someone to refill my prescriptions.” He handed the psychiatrist a list.

“Is that so?” Monty nodded, recognizing the names of antidepressant and antipsychotic medications. He set the list down, “How have you been settling in? Hm?” 

“It’s a bit lonely I confess, but I’ve already made a friend so it’s not all bad,” he attempted to choose his words carefully before adding, “Though, I think the stress of the move has made me particularly.. Erratic? If that is the word?”

Monty only gave him a look that said, ‘well, explain yourself!’

Edward scratched at his jaw, “I don’t know. I suppose one moment I’m heavy with grief, but the next I am neurotic, and then I will glow with confidence. Even my eyes have been tricking me in more imposing ways than usual.” 

“Hell if I know what in god’s name that last bit means.”

Squirming in his seat, he refused to elaborate. Such a complicated topic required a bit more comfort to delve into.

 

Leaning back, Monty went on, “Why did you choose now to return? You almost sound like coming here was a pain in the ass. But, I guess that’s how moving goes.”  
Edward fiddled with his cuticles, “I needed a change of scenery. Since I inherited the home from my late parents, I thought coming here would help get in touch with them.”

“Shit, sorry I asked.”

“Oh no, it’s alright. That was some time ago. I just don’t know how to handle the South now that I’m an adult. As a kid this place was more liberating, but now it’s… Who knows.”  
Pulling feathers, he pressed Richtofen curiously, “Would you say you’re happy to be back?”

“...Not really.” 

“Is there a particular reason for that? I mean, you practically lit up to the idea of a fresh start.”

“Oh you know, memories and what not. That sort of thing.” Edward shrugged.

He plucked another, “Is it grief?”

“...I don’t know.”

Leaning on his palms, he tugged one more, “What do you think is making you want to avoid this conversation?”

Edward flinched at the queary, as he knew exactly why. He was seldom a liar, but instead disguised genuine confessions in reality’s truth. Or at least, by omitting compromising details. 

So instead Richtofen half-lied, “I’m actually planning on meeting that new friend after our session. I don’t want to dig up something I won’t have time to sort through.” 

 

“Of course, of course,” the doctor nodded and scribbled something on a notepad.

“Let’s switch gears then, shall we? Why don’t you tell me about your friend? You seem very excited to meet him.”

To this, Richtofen blushed at his transparency, “He makes me feel less lonely. Perhaps even, my interest is more than platonic.”

“Does your desired relationship have potential to come to fruition?”

“If that’s a more refined way of asking if he also likes men, then yes. He does. I wanted to mention I was pleased to see you have a husband. That was one of a few reasons I picked you to start.”

Monty laughed, “Yeah well, I love the old bastard. We would have problems if you thought otherwise,” he added after a thoughtful moment, “it seems what you need most is some Risperidone and a sense of belonging, am I correct in thinking so?”

Edward couldn’t help but chuckle as well.

 

The two spent the rest of the session learning more about each other. The psychiatrist was born and raised in England, but he came to the states to study medicine. It was here that the man met his husband, and he never felt the need to return home. Like Edward, there was not much to leave behind.  
Monty spent his initial years working as a surgeon, but found he lacked the stamina to continue. He later found therapy to suit him better, as he would continue his work on improving others in less upsetting fashions. 

Above everything, Richtofen found that he quite liked him. He initially feared he’d have to spend a couple weeks ‘shopping’ for a proper match, but Doctor Monty appeared to suit just fine. His brash vernacular only lightened the sensitive environment, which the German equally appreciated.

 

“So,” Doctor Monty spoke, “I think the best course of action is to start your medication again slowly, and I will see you twice a week to monitor your progress.” He then wagged his finger, “to move a mountain, one must begin with the stones.”

“That sounds wonderful. Thank you, Doctor Monty.” Edward said, taking the prescription in his hands.

“I’m sure you can see yourself out,” the old man shook his sweaty palms, “I’ll see you in a few days.”

 

As he left, Richtofen payed more attention to the frames lining the walls. It came as no surprise that a doctor of Monty’s standing appreciated naturalistic art, as it aimed to represent the world as it was. There was no focus on beauty, conventional techniques, or even subconscious elements holding a secret beyond what is shared. It was dark, imperfect, yet familiar. Feral emotion, the instinct that humans inherited. Cruelty, which likewise can be portrayed, was a modern invention.

Just then, one particular photograph caught his eye. It was a far younger version of Monty. However, a majority of the photo was covered by a vase holding a bouquet of white lily.

Just as he reached to get a closer look, Richtofen felt a heavy presence behind him. He turned to find Monty’s husband, scowling once again.

“Get out of my house.” The man uttered lowly in his Louisiana cadence.

“S-sorry!” He stuttered, and nearly dashed from the man’s shadow and into the car.

 

A gentle wind overtook the meadow, and the cicada’s stretched their beating wings.

——-

Dempsey scratched his arm as he confided to his friends from within the diner.

“I don’t know what to do. I’m just worried.”

“Normally I would say you’re being paranoid,” Nikolai sighed, “but Smokey was supposed to see me this morning too.”

Takeo asked warily, “you don’t think they left somewhere together, do you?”

“If that’s the case, they should have shot me in the leg too.” He muttered bitterly.

“Will you call the police?” 

“McCain will be in for a world of trouble if the cops find his gun,” he lowered his volume before going on, “plus Smokey has one or two things at his place we’ll all get in trouble for.”

Nikolai and Takeo both gulped, convinced.

 

“Maybe they did leave,” the soldier said wistfully, “sucks I never got to say bye.”

Takeo rested a reassuring hand on his shoulder, “I’m certain that after they’ve had some space, you will hear from them again.”

He forced out a smile, “you’re probably right.”

 

It was then that the ringing bell sounded, and Dempsey turned to find Edward standing in the doorway, his dark skin and smooth hair as vibrant as ever.

“Eddie!” The American called with glee, “you made it!”

The doctor was unsure if a hug was appropriate, so instead he waved shyly, “I spotted Daisy out front so I knew where to go.”

“Well c’mon!” Tank tugged his friend closer, “guys, meet Edward Richtofen.”

Nikolai took the man’s shaking palm into a rough handshake, “Finally good to meet you. Dempsey’s been talking about you for a long time-“

The German raised his brows in shock once he got a better look at the Russian across the bar. 

“Wait a second, are you Nikolai Belinski? The writer?”

He blinked, “you know me?”

“Yes, I’ve read your memoirs!” Edward said excitedly, “I had no idea you were that Nikolai. Had I known I would have brought my copy.”

The cook rubbed at his neck with humble embarrassment, not knowing how to respond.

“Have you been working on anything lately?” Richtofen eased, made timid by his own enthusiasm.

“Yes, but I have only just begun.”

Dempsey added, “And he won’t even tell us what it’s about yet! Rude!”

“I will still be looking forward to it.” The German looked to his side, “and you must be Takeo?”

“Nice to meet you,” he bowed his head slightly, a cultural gesture he never quite shed. “Dempsey tells me we go to the same school.”

“That’s right.” he said, “What are you majoring in?”

“Philosophy.”

A thoughtful pause, “...You and your fiance are both artists of thought. That is very sweet.”

Takeo reddened at the observation, to which Edward began to apologize profusely. He wished he knew how to stop making a fool of himself through the need to speak without thinking.

 

Despite this, he was very pleased to see Tank kept good company. A man who carried his mind and body with wholeness and beauty, and one of his favorite writers as a strong protector.

Richtofen had many fond memories of reading Nikolai’s work during his college days. The eloquent writings granted him confidence in his hard life, understanding that fascinating stories seldom came from dull experiences. Even so, the couple seemed made for each other in an affectionate and familial sort of way. He was left to wonder if this was innate.

Edward recalled Dempsey describing the Russian as watchful and protective, as this too was apparent. The man seemed restrained in his interactions with Richtofen, as if judging, as if he was forming his opinion of him right before his eyes. Although he granted outward friendliness, the underlying caution made this worrisome. He had hopes this was Nikolai trying to see if Dempsey and himself were compatible, which he now felt the need to prove to the best of his ability.

“Now Nikolai, Tank will not stop raving about your french toast-”

The Russian grinned, “Say no more.”

“One for him as well please,” Edward called softly as the man stepped into the kitchen.

Dempsey then leaned in the German’s space, “So how’s the house work coming?”

“It’s coming along fine, I’ve finally sanded all the profanities carved into the staircase,” he sighed, “But the yard work is impossible...Do you know where I could get a lawn mower?”

The soldier gestured to his friend, “gardening’s more Takeo’s department.”

“I think I would much rather help you myself,” the Japanese man smiled, “it is the least I could do to welcome you to our neighborhood.”

“I couldn’t accept that,” Edward blushed.

“It would be no trouble, and I have many herbs in my greenhouse looking for a home.”

 

With that the doctor finally felt ok. His nerves appeared to dissipate, and Nikolai arrived with the meals which were presented delicately on decorated platters.  
Edward took his plate with great appreciation, and spoke equally so, “thank you for your hospitality, Takeo. But please, only when you have free time.”

“Sunday, if that is no trouble.”

“I wouldn’t mind lending a hand as well.” The Russian crossed his arms.

Tank joined in, “Hey, I want to help too!”

The doctor laughed, “I bet you do,” before confirming, “is Sunday alright with everyone?”

They all nodded, and Edward realized that, perhaps, this would be where he could find what he craved. This is what he wanted.

Reminded of cravings, he took a bite of the piping hot meal before him, and marveled, “Nikolai!” 

Never had the German experienced the need to cry from food, but the touching endearments of his new friends, the self-actualization via his unconventional therapist, and the comforting warmth of a late breakfast had all combined to form a knot of emotion in his throat.

He continued to chew as droplets came down from his eyes and dashed onto the countertop.

And the three made no question that Richtofen was enamoured by the prologue of their relationship.

And Dempsey only wanted to condition the doctor to so much love and acceptance, that there would be no need for tears ever again.

 

He confidently put his arm around Edward, and the four shared the rest of the afternoon together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For a long time I've headcannoned that Shadowman is from Louisiana. His voice is reminiscent of a big-wig governor from the antiquated South..... Also Monty is still a bastard with no chill.
> 
> Also, I hope everyone is having fun with BO4 :^)


	9. Community Garden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward gets some help in the yard.

The bright sky and screeching cicadas offered a looming premonition of a hot day to come, however, this would not bother Takeo. The warm weather made him feel right at home. 

Takeo had grown up in a house of wealth and privilege near the former capital of Japan. For ages, his family name was engraved in military history, from the sharpest samurai to the wisest generals. In fact, he was one of the few left to pass on the tradition of welding one’s own sword.

Although this upbringing granted him whatever he desired, he never became jaded by greed. He was a thoughtful man who sought more value in little gestures. However, he simultaneously found himself very lonely. His childhood was spent isolated by fellow children and judgemental eyes. So instead, he followed the hand of fate to convert ‘loyalty to family’ into ‘loyalty to love.’ He moved to America.

Though his relatives were disappointed by Takeo’s decision; they could not strip him of his birthright. He used the money to bring to life his honest desires. In other words, a comfortable future with Nikolai, a safe home, and especially his greenhouse. 

Takeo’s personal greenhouse was his biggest passion, as he found great satisfaction in caring for those who could not care for themselves. In this case, it was an array of life that would never stand a chance in the changing seasons without proper guidance. He found himself a mentor of silent souls.

 

As the foreigner tread down the sidewalk, he tugged his red wagon from the sticky warmth of humid air. With him, he carried pots of basil and lemongrass, lavender and dandelion, even trimmings from a blackberry bush. Takeo was certain his new friend would benefit from the presence of greenery; as simple as purifying the space with living wards. 

Dempsey often found himself at the receiving end of this gesture, as Takeo frequently gifted him plants to care for. However, now it was Edward’s turn.  
The two had spoken candidly for the week, almost as if long time friends. Eventually, Takeo realized that the German was hiding underlying fear. He was empathetic to the matter. He was once the foreigner exploring unknown parts of America, he was once a stranger who so desperately wished for a home. The only difference was that Edward was completely alone. He did his best to ease the doctor’s transition the only way he knew how. Besides, there is something intimate about sharing a project that brings people together.

It was then he spotted Edward himself trimming the bushes with a great amount of effort. The Japanese man laughed; manual labor was certainly not Richtofen’s forte. Yet, hearing the approach of the squeaking wagon, the doctor was excited to greet Takeo’s arrival.

“Takeo!” He waved as he stepped through the tall grass and dropped the heavy sheers, “you came!”

“Of course,” he nodded, “How long have you been working? I hope I didn’t leave you waiting.”

Wiping the sweat from his brow, he breathed, “Only an hour or two. I just finished digging up this sapling to move it to the backyard.” He gestured to a sprouting dogwood tree, not yet decorated with off-white blossoms, and removed from its former place in the earth.

He added, “Where is Nikolai?”

“He was needed at his volunteer position. He sends his apologies.”

“It’s no trouble.” Yet, Edward confessed himself disappointed. 

He had the feeling his Russian friend still kept weary eyes on him, he felt it all week. The doctor wanted to put the suspicion to rest by making his intentions known, but Nikolai would have to wait another day. Unfortunately.

“Do you know what you’ll put in the tree’s place?” Takeo asked.

“I was thinking flowers. But frankly, I trust your judgement better.” He laughed.

 

Takeo took the opportunity to step around the patch of dirt which lined the perimeter. Perhaps, a flowering shrub would do better. Hydrangeas would be too imposing by their mere size, yet lilac was humbling and kind. Maybe even, he considered, yellow Forsythia could likewise accompany the faint purple, and would grant both love and anticipation to someone that needed it.

He spoke his vision into existence, and finished, “Though, I think you had best replant the tree before it goes into shock.”

Richtofen was enamored by the way his friend spoke of the verdure, and nodded confidently, “I better start digging then,” before dashing off to the backyard.

Alone, Edward was at least greatful of the twisting banyon and its casting shadow. It had only been a few minutes of standing in the sun, and the German already began to feel nauseous from the overbearing heat. This would have been far less painful, had Edward possessed the courage to wear a top with shorter sleeves. However, he was not ready to literally bare the scars of his past to his new companions.

 

It took a few long moments until the German picked out a perfect clearing for the dogwood’s new home. Slightly shaded, but it would get enough sunlight throughout the day. He even began to imagine how nice the blooms would look in the meadow, even if spring was a long time from now.

Edward struggled to find his footing with his first plunge into the earth. Digging looked so easy, but he found tearing up the roots of grass and compacted dirt a challenge. Stumbling and stomping into the spade, the man tried. He was at least thankful that the turf grew naturally short here. The German was left to critique the interworkings of American capitalism that paid gravediggers so little. Hardly justified.

 

As Edward continued to heave the heavy loads, he came to an abrupt pause when he heard a clanging thud. The doctor would have self-immolated if he did all this work only to find a rock, (or worse, some piping), blocking his way. Instead, he quickly realized that this was not a stone, nor a part of the plumbing. His heart sank when he discovered a familiar tin box.

 

Takeo, meanwhile, was a swift worker. He trimmed the grass neatly, occasionally pulling debri from the brush, and prepared the soil. The man then lifted the dogwood sapling, and took it to the backyard to clear the area. However, upon arrival he found his friend kneeling in the grass and clutching something to his chest.

Takeo set the tree against a wall before calling, “what have you found?”

Edward jolted, and set the object behind his back, “nothing important.”

Despite this, he was intrigued by the mysterious buried treasure, and approached, “may I see?”

Richtofen made no argument as he handed over the tin box with a sigh. On the surface lay a rusted engraving that read ‘Fluffy.’ There was no shine to the artifact, but the attention to detail in the little marks had shown a lot of care went into its preparation.

“Ah,” was all his friend could say, made awkward.

“She was my dog. Figures I happened to find where she was buried,” Edward scratched his neck uncomfortably.

Takeo continued to examine the box, “she was cremated?”

“Yeah, I think her collar’s still in there. We left some notes too so we could always tell her she’s a good dog... She had a long life but her passing still felt sudden.” Edward recognized the conversation was going in a weird direction, “though, that was a long time ago.”

“She obviously still means something to you. Perhaps you’d like to give her a new resting place?”

“I suppose that would be nice. I’d like to get a sturdier box, but it feels wrong to open this one. It’s like a time capsule for expiry.”

“If death is punctuation, it grants one meaning in a world of infinite stories. I think it’s best to honor her place within your own.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Edward confessed with a chuckle, “I’ll put this inside...do you want something to drink?”

“Yes please,” Takeo smiled.

 

In Richtofen’s absence, Takeo seated himself at the patio table and looked at a fresh pile of overturned earth. It was messy and haphazardly placed, and carried the slight aroma of ash on the wind. Upon the doctor’s swift return he asked:

“What are you planning to do over there?”

“Oh,” the German became visibly anxious, “nothing really.”

“...Do you want to?”

He only sipped, “I think we best leave that area be for now.” Then very obviously changed the conversation, “Where exactly does your fiance volunteer?”

“The animal shelter, he loves it there.”

“Do you have pets of your own?”

“Not technically, but we often house animals temporarily.”

Edward leaned on his elbow, “you know I’m actually a bit jealous? You and Nikolai seem to complete each other. I wish I had that.”

His friend became a dark red, “You’re still young. Love takes time, and compassion takes effort.”

“What was the proposal like? Who asked who?” He wondered excitedly.

Takeo smiled wistfully, “I was visiting home for Oshogatsu, and I brought Nikolai along. There was something about seeing my family celebrating the new year together that made me want to make him a part of it forever. So I asked him the next day, we picked out a ring, and that was that.”

The man pulled a chain tucked under his tanktop, “I keep it here mostly. Horticulture is tough when you’re trying not to dirty something so precious.”

“That’s beautiful, Takeo.” Edward sighed romantically.

 

\------

 

It was just past mid-day when Dempsey arrived late with Daisy in tow. Edward and Takeo had just finished setting the last of the shrubbery, and the mechanic marveled at the work as he pulled up the driveway.

“Damn guys, this looks like a completely different place already!”

“You think so?” Edward smiled, “I have Takeo to thank,” to which he waved off the compliment.

Tank quickly slipped into a type of ‘excited storytelling mode’ as he got out of the truck.

“So I know I’m super late, but you’ll never guess what happened.” 

Takeo played along, “what?”

He paused for dramatic effect, “I found. An arm.”

“An arm?!” Edward gasped.

“Dempsey, that’s disgusting.” Takeo deadpanned. 

“I know, right?” The soldier explained incredulously, “I was just minding my own business and getting the mail, and I see the gutter’s backed up, but when I reached inside, it was just there.”

“You TOUCHED it?!” Richtofen lost his damn mind, “how are you not terrified?”

Dempsey only shrugged, “I don’t know, I’ve seen worse?”

Takeo clarified for his worrisome friend, muttering darkly, “but that means there’s a body missing an arm, or at least, some stranger is going around cutting off limbs… You called the police, right?”

“Of course, I’m not a total idiot. They didn’t tell me much though, just that there was a mark on the shoulder they were going to look at. Hell, they even checked under my nails and stuff.”

“Did they go through your house too?”

“I said no. It probably didn’t make me look good, but I don’t want to get busted for having weed.”

“Is this exciting to you?” The german questioned, still shocked.

“Severed limbs do that to your adrenaline.” He said, and Edward agreed stubbornly:

“I suppose you’re right.”

“Now,” Dempsey rubbed his hands together, “I hope you left something for me to do. I feel bad you did most of the work.”

The doctor scratched at his chin, “well, there’s one last thing.” In that moment Edward became truly grateful. He did not want to go back to that poison river alone, and perhaps his friends could confirm that what he saw was real. He knew it was real. 

“I have a ravine behind my house that I wanted to clean up. You had best leave Daisy behind though, there’s a sinkhole in the middle she may fall into.”

Tank assured, “Don’t worry, she won’t go anywhere without my say-so.” The old retriever barked in agreement.

 

As the three carried out some garbage bags and net to collect the litter, Takeo finally asked,

“So, what did the arm feel like?”

“Don’t encourage him.” Edward called, so instead Dempsey whispered,

“Like a cold piece of uncooked chicken.”

 

\---------------

 

The dirt path to the river seemed to go on forever. It was anticipation and Edward knew this. He hadn’t visited the river for over a month. He hadn’t confided about his dreams. He didn’t even know what he’d do if they saw the purpling haze that drifted over pitch black. 

Since his visit to Doctor Monty’s, he was already seeing great improvement in his psyche. The illusion of holes were fewer and far between, and he found himself more calm. Likewise, his bouts of depression were less intense. Had he nothing to lean on after accidentally digging up his dead dog, he would not be able to move for a week. Or worse he’d be sobbing at the touching romanticism of Takeo’s proposal story, just as he did in the diner as they first met. Romantic sentiment was a heavy weakness, if his obsession with Dempsey did not make it abundantly clear. 

Despite all that, It was imperative that he saw the river while he had his mental clarity.

 

And yet, when they came to the riverbank, there was nothing but crystal clear water. Deep and green, with smooth stones glistening in the light. Tadpoles paddled in and out of discarded jars, and the stream dragged lazily down the ancient path. Edward only stood staring out, moving parallel and searching.

Takeo noticed this, “are you looking for the sinkhole?”

“Yeah. It was right here I know it. I saw it my first night back.” He mumbled.

“I assume you couldn’t see the bottom if it was night,” he theorized. Richtofen only held his tongue at this. The shape was too perfect, the fog too intoxicating, the feelings too real to know that this was not the case. 

Dempsey searched, “hey, I think this drifts down past my house too. I knew it reached far but I figured it would have been plugged up from way over here, or at least it would be much smaller.”

The observation validated Edward in feeling that the river was indeed abnormal. He likewise recognized his friend alluding to the landslide that ordained his home ‘haunted.’

Regardless, Tank added, “but I wouldn’t let my girl swim until it’s clean anyway!”

 

The four began to sift out what they could. Discarded fishing line, cigarette butts, random bits of rusted steel, and even cans of beer. Takeo likewise made sure to trudge through the cool water to check around the fallen driftwood.

“There’s an old tire here.” he called, to which Tank became excited.

“Roll it over.” The soldier quickly turned to Daisy with a smile, “Go Daze!”

Takeo laughed as the dog began to run alongside the thick wheel, dancing around it playfully. The two friends followed, helping to push it further, and they had their fun in the shining warmth and shallow pools.

Edward, who took advantage of their distraction, reached for one of the discarded glass jars and filled it with the stream’s water. If there was a chemical contaminating the system, or if there once was, he would be able to find out.

 

Later that evening, Richtofen found that he had been devoured by mosquitoes. His legs burned hot with the itching marks, and he knew it was going to be a long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oshogatsu is Japanese new year.
> 
> The stuff about digging up a dead dog's ashes is actually a true story!
> 
> Tank smokes, but don't do drugs please. No advocacy here, I just know vets become drawn to addiction if they lack a support system on return (like Peter with alcohol.) There's a book that goes into more detail about this called "Chasing The Scream: The First and Last Days of the War on Drugs" if you're interested.


	10. Lithops Cultivation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward and Dempsey go out for an unofficial date.

With what seemed like the ten millionth sweep of the mop, Edward was certain the stench of doctor’s office was wiped from his senses. At least, he hoped so. He wanted to actually use the upstairs at some point. It had been dusted, the scuffs buffed out, the walls painted; yet it still carried a chemical smell. Unnatural. Fresh. Unsettling. An apothecary of some lingering spiritual essence, really.

Despite this, he was eager to set up his bedroom. The man needed a small space to call his own, as even in his own home he found his privacy invaded. The grey cat that once lurked in the attic returned now and then, only to knock over glassware and get fur stuck between the keys of his laptop. 

In the end, the creature always evaded capture, and Edward was curious as to how exactly it kept finding an entrance.

The German soon pinched his temples, but this was not due to the fumes of cleaning supplies, nor a typical headache. It was another dizzy spell, and not knowing why it kept returning was distressing. Yes, Doctor Monty had recently adjusted his medication. However, Richtofen’s experience with the prescriptions never made him feel such confusion. Lightheadedness would roll in and out like the tide, causing him to sit down before his face became intimately acquainted with the floor. Even during class, he swore he would drop right there in front of his students. His efforts to steady himself obvious and pointed. 

For now, there was not much Edward could do. 

Just as he rested, his cell phone chirped. He was pleased to see it was Dempsey;

_- > hey doc ! you busy ?_  
Hey :^) Not really <-  
-> wanna hang out ?  
..Richtofen gulped and scratched at his mosquito bites anxiously. The opportunity was tantalizing.  
Sure, can you come over? <-  
-> woah… an invite from the man himself  
-> i’ll be right there x) 

Edward shoved the phone in his pocket and dashed excitedly to the bathroom, wanting to make himself look presentable. 

 

...Naturally, in that moment, he forgot the wet floor. 

 

When Tank came to the door, he had a hard time convincing Daisy to join him.

“C’mon girl, this is our first time over. Don’t be like that.” He rubbed her ears, “I really want him to like us.”

She whined apropos to the old home and stepped back, tail laid low. A transparent chain pulled her away from the windowed door. 

“You know I can’t do this without you.” He frowned. “Please, Daze?”

The old retriever stood for a moment before she complied to this plea with apprehension. He rang the doorbell and whispered to her with a smile,

“I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

 

When Edward answered the door, Dempsey was moonstruck by the man standing on the threshold. 

Richtofen carried the light scent of cologne dusting his copper skin, and coffee clinging to his clothes. Their recent work in the sun appeared to shade the man darker, showing lines of olive tones under cuffs. His hair, meanwhile, looked freshly washed; implying that he showered just for Dempsey’s visit. He even wore a yellow and green flannel. This wasn’t the doctor’s usual fashion, but Tank figured that he was starting to adjust. It was endearing.

The only worrisome thing, he realized, was a bloody tissue tucked into Edward’s nostril. A stain of cherry red accumulated at the top.

“Hello!” the German still greeted with a smile.

The American raised his brows at the sight, “Geez, what happened to you?”

“I was... Mopping.” He squinted regretfully.

“Oh my God.”

Edward sighed, but eagerly invited the two in.

 

The doctor led them into the living room, “did you have any specific plans in mind?”

“Well, I was thinking we could take Daisy to the park. Maybe get some sandwiches at the gas station too.”

Richtofen Scrunched his nose, “Gas station food? Sounds suspicious.”

“Normally you’d be right, but this one place has some really good pulled-pork sandwiches.”

“Alright,” Edward snorted, “I’ll humor you, but I at least want to bring some snacks.”

He shrugged while the doctor moved to the kitchen, which shared the space of the sitting room. 

“Did anything come of that, uh, thing found?” Richtofen spoke as he pulled oranges and pineapple from the fridge. It goes without saying, it was uncomfortable to mention severed limbs in good company.

“Nothing, and I don’t think I’m too happy about that.” Dempsey frowned in ernest.

“Well, I have no doubts that you can defend yourself, but if you don’t feel safe: don’t be afraid to invite yourself over.”

Tank blushed at the offer, but disguised the butterflies with a laugh, “Thanks, Eddie.”

“Now, I won’t be long,” He nodded, and the mechanic heard the knife come down on the cutting board.

 

Dempsey started exploring the space while his retriever lay at the foot of the staircase. Here, she rested her chin and kept her eyes set on the entrance to the upper floor. Yet the soldier paid this no mind. His attention was instead drawn to the collection of shot glasses strewn about the coffee table. 

They were filled with a concoction of dyed liquids of varying colors, metal stirring rods attached to some device, and even strips of paper that looked as if dipped in watercolors. It was a confusing display to someone with modest education.

“You working on something for school?” Tank asked curiously.

“Please don’t mess with that,” Edward warned as he dodged the query, “it’s a very delicate project.” 

Little did Dempsey know, this was an elaborate experiment to figure out what lie in the river. Crying wolf a second time would make the German look crazy, and therefore he committed to collecting samples for the remainder of summer to observe the changes. 

Richtofen wanted to be absolutely certain that the river was poison. He knew it was.

 

Aside from the odd looking science project, Tank found that the decor was otherwise neat and homey. 

Dempsey was left to run his digits across the ivory keys of an antiquated piano, wondering if his beloved was classically trained. 

He followed the old photographs and paintings on the wall, taking in the flashbacks he never knew. 

He let his eyes scan the books that filled the shelves, recognizing some of his personal favorites. To this, he quoted in a near-whisper:

“You don’t love because: you love despite; not for virtue, but despite faults.” 

“Faulkner?” Edward perked up.

“Of course,” Tank gestured to his head with a grin, “This isn’t just for good looks, it thinks too!”

The German whined playfully, “You know I hate it when you talk about yourself like that.”

 

Dempsey ignored this, and his attention drifted to a photo on top of the bookcase. It was a teenage Eddie, with who he assumed was his family. He took the memory into his hand.

“I didn’t know you had a sister,” Tank said as he observed the photo closer.

“It never came up. Do you?”

He waved a ‘no’ absentmindedly, still intrigued. He could easily gather that his doctor was blessed with a growth spurt, as he appeared very small in contrast to the others. 

Likewise, Edward appeared more withdrawn compared to the theatrical and squirrely man he was familiar with. Even so, the rest of his family drew his curious eyes. 

Dempsey chuckled at this, “it’s kind of funny that they look nothing like you. You look like the adopted child or something.”

Edward hesitated, “I was.”

And Tank wanted to shoot himself in the foot right then and there. Actually, having a meteor crash down the ceiling, killing him instantly, would be a far better punishment. He was absolutely mortified.

“Jesus **CHRIST** , Tank,” he cursed himself, “Eddie, I didn’t mean-”

The taller man only laughed, “It’s alright, I promise! It’s not something I’m ashamed of.”

Regardless of the assurance, Dempsey still wanted to self-immolate. ‘You look adopted,’ what kind of comment was that, he lamented as shame prickled his skin.

Tank soon set the photo down, and slumped his body over the counter where Edward worked. “I’m still sorry.” He spoke face-down into the granite.

In attempt at affection, Richtofen pushed his hands through the mechanic’s hair to overturn the buried face, “Don’t worry about it.”  
Dempsey really wanted him to do that again, but he already embarrassed himself enough.

“You almost ready?” He spoke instead.

“Just about. I packed some chicken for Daisy too, if that’s ok.”

Tank smiled, “she’ll love it.”

 

\-----

 

Dempsey emerged from the gas station market with 2 styrofoam boxes, excited to introduce the German to something new. It was more about sharing a piece of his life than it was about the quality of the meal. Yet, Richtofen became impressed when he saw Daisy showing no interest towards the delicious aroma.

“She’s so well trained, she’s not even begging.”

Tank smiled proudly, “just wait until you see her fetch,” and the two soon made the tiresome trek uphill to the nearest park. 

Upon viewing the site, Edward found it was more of an expanse of field than a traditional park with swing sets or trails. The tall grass moved like waves with the passing breeze, and it almost reminded him of the default desktop image on his computer. Only instead, wide oaks stood here and there, creating isolated pockets of shade. The two set their belongings against the one closest. 

“Alright,” Dempsey took a tennis ball from his bag, “You ready girl?”

With a great throw, he sent the golden hound dashing into the weeds. One could mark her path by the blazing trail that flattened under her paws. The doctor marveled at the throw, to which his friend winked, “High School baseball.” 

The old girl returned with the ball, and Tank handed it to Edward, “why don’t you give it a try?”

He took the toy gingerly, “just anywhere?” 

Tank nodded.

 

To no surprise, it only made it a few meters before bouncing it’s way to a stop. Though, to his surprise, Dempsey took off running beside the hound. The man and his dog seemed to race to see who could find it in the brush first. 

Of course, Daisy was triumphant in the challenge; however, she did not return to Edward. Instead, she chased after Tank. Some wonderful sense of euphoria came over the German as he dashed out to meet them. He was not much of an athlete, but his long legs allowed him a decent pace. 

The three continued to dash through the weed, sending insects and dandelion floating in their wake. They laughed, and in Daisy’s case barked, from the hilltop. 

 

Finally, there came a point where the only energy that remained was to collapse in defeat. Though Edward could not see Dempsey from his position, he still felt him nearby. Warm, safe, excited, glowing. 

There was no better time to love than now. Richtofen’s feelings heated like an autoclave from his chest, the pressure tightening into wonderful knots of delight. The placid field seemed to make them feel like the last people on earth. Dempsey was likewise enamored by Edward’s childlike spirit, one that remained shielded until now. It was a rallying call to the American’s desire to protect and support. Suddenly they were no longer strangers, suddenly there weren't mysterious severed arms lurking in the sewers, suddenly restraint towards muted affections were cast aside.

 

Lunch, though equally tranquil, was equally invigorating. Tank attempted to catch grapes in his mouth while Richtofen chewed on the sandwich his friend offered. He didn’t doubt the American’s taste, but the tender strings of meat were a pleasant surprise. He made a note to visit the shop again, and “I told you so” would become a common phrase between the two. 

 

Soon, grogginess fell like a blanket, and Dempsey stretched out on the grass with a contented sigh. Richtofen was sitting nearby when he felt his nausea and vision spiraling once again. However, the doctor felt ambitious enough to try something a little more daring than just lying down.

In a slow gesture, he moved so his head lay across Dempsey’s stomach, “is this ok?” Richtofen asked sheepishly.

“Y-yeah.” The mechanic shielded his burning face.

Tank then let his hand hover over his friend’s head, nervous. Would it be too much to run his fingers through the dark locks as well? He wanted to, he really wanted to. 

And suddenly he was.

To this, Richtofen leaned into the touch, and muttered softly, “I think it may rain soon.”

Dempsey looked to the whispering grey clouds overhead, still caressing his beloved, “I hope.”

Edward then closed his eyes to focus on his touch-starved body. Tank was surprisingly gentle, despite calloused hands and a strong physique. He passed his digits as if he were petting a dove, occasionally playing with curls that stuck out here and there. The doctor could only let out subtle giggles to the sensation. He wished he could rest here forever.

 

Dempsey finally spoke, “The guys and I have this tradition of driving out to the beach every fourth of July. I’ve been meaning to ask if you want to tag along.”

“The beach is a long way from here,” he hummed. Only now did Edward realize he could hear the American’s baritone voice rumble from his chest.

“Yeah, but it’s a fun little road trip anyway.”

“..I would love to join you.” he smiled, “just know I’m a poor swimmer.”

Tank chuckled, “that’s fine.”

Another moment of tender silence. 

In a ventersome gesture, Edward led his hand to the man’s jaw. Following the contours with a well-placed thumb, grazing the roughness of a freshly-shaven face. He swore he could feel Dempsey stretch into a smile as he did so. Richtofen no longer cared if loneliness still clouded his judgement, because the sentiment was still real. He listened as an unfamiliar tune rumbled from his friend, a song without words. A lullaby for him.

 

Suddenly, a drop fell on the marine’s forehead. Then another. And another. And then it became a downpour. Edward and Dempsey voiced playfully as they fled, hand and hand, with Daisy following close behind. The marine was left grinning as Richtofen struggled to catch his breath from under a grand oak, which stood like an umbrella overhead. Though completely drenched, they were not cold. Their bodies burned with joy as they supported themselves against the trunk. 

“You know,” the German huffed to regain his energy, “I don’t hate the rain.”

“Yea?” Tank breathed as well.

Edward hesitated to finish, “It’s the thunder.”

“Funny. I feel the same.” The mechanic scratched, “prolly for different reasons though.”

Both became unwilling to further the subject; yet, contented with doing so. A merciful sense of mutual understanding.

Instead, they watched the sky occasionally flash a blinding white, as streaks of purple and blue scarred the sky. To their relief, there was no boom.

“Thunder only happens if the lightning touches the ground,” Richtofen explained suddenly, an effort to fill the empty space. “As it travels, it creates a column through the atmosphere; and when it passes, we hear the sound of air collapsing back into the space.” 

He then looked to Tank, embarrassed, “Of course, lightning only touches the ground when the charges are right.”

“Like positive to negative?”

“...Opposites attract after all,” a fact which resonated well.

“My mom used to say it was God’s lions,” Dempsey chuckled, “but I think either reason suits just fine.”

Edward then pushed his wet bangs from his face. “I guess it was time to head-in anyway.”

“Yeah,” Dempsey sighed, “You think you can handle a run home?”

A flicker of competition lit the German’s eyes, “No, but I’ll try.”

 

\---------

 

By the time they reached Edward’s place, the doctor thought he was going to drop dead. Or vomit. Whatever happened first. He was very out of shape, but intrigued and impressed by Dempsey’s fitness.

Richtofen offered his friend a towel by ruffling it through his caramel hair, to which Tank snatched off with a toothy grin. 

“Hey. Today was fun,” Tank said in earnest, “I should get going though.”

The doctor was unsure what type of goodbye was appropriate, so he busied his nervous fingers by reaching in the bin beside the door.

“You had better take this,” he offered an umbrella.

“Thanks, I’ll bring it back next time.” He winked. ‘Next time’ was a hopeful premonition of future days like this to come. It granted an unspoken warmth, and the soldier pulled his friend into a tight hug.

Edward hadn’t been held in a very long time, and the tight pressure of longing gave him butterflies. Dempsey, meanwhile, was just happy that the doctor hugged back. A reciprocation of feelings and vulnerability to trust.

 

With reluctance to separate, Tank made his way home.

 

Despite their parting, Dempsey stepped excitedly. Daisy at his side, and his boots pattering in the rain. How wonderful love felt.

The marine was certain that Edward liked him back, as their tender endearments only served to validate this. It was more than platonic, or at least Tank hoped so. His own sense of poor confidence prevented him from thinking himself worthy. Feelings he seldom expressed outwardly. Perhaps he wasn’t so sure.

Instead, he resolved to make his German friend more and more comfortable. Edward was fine china; beautiful and delicate, yet admired and reserved for the most wonderful occasions. Tank wanted to make the doctor feel as special as the feelings the marine developed. 

Besides, how could he mention dating in a cohesive manner, when one could get lost in those aurora borealis eyes. Only today had he noticed the tinge of gold that accompanied blue and green. It was beautiful, like the vibrant quills of a peacock, or sandbars swirling in the Caribbean . The windows to his soul, of which he guarded with an avoidant gaze. 

As the mechanic finally reached his apartment, he was surprised to find three cops standing at his door, waiting. 

A pit grew in Dempsey’s stomach. 

Something was wrong.

Back home, Edward led his dripping body upstairs. He felt overcome by dizziness once again. 

Stumbling, he grasped onto the handrail so not to tumble down. Maybe, he pondered, this lightheadedness was just love. After all, today he found his deepest needs met in a matter of hours; as simple as fingers on skin and sharing an adventure with someone he cared about. It was understandable to be overwhelmed by it all. However, the doctor found himself greedy in wishing for more. Perhaps a kiss from those tantalizing lips that sang so humbly in the weeds. He could only scratch at his itching marks to the guilty thought.

From the top of the stairs he spotted the familiar grey cat. Lashing it’s tail and looking into him with piercing green eyes.

“I am not in the mood for this, cat.” He sighed, “you’re lucky that I’m exhausted. Just please, don’t make a mess,” spoken as if the feline could understand. 

...Yet, maybe it could. The cat stood, and slowly disappeared down the hallway and into one of the rooms while Richtofen retreated into his own.

 

And as Richtofen changed into something dry, he heard his cell phone buzz on top of the bed.

The caller ID read Nikolai’s name, and on the other end, a frantic voice made an urgent request.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lithops is a neat type of succulent that looks like a small rock, but when it rains, it opens up to take in the water.
> 
> The park and the gas station are real places, and Faulkner is a popular writer in Southern lit. You may know him from "A Rose for Emily"


	11. Family Portrait II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie finds a family.

“Why is everyone so sad?” The boy asked as he swung his legs curiously from his mentor’s dinner table.

 

Over the years, Doctor Ludvig Maxis worked hard to give Edward and his daughter a space to grow. He was pleased to learn that they both thrived with individual attention, and Eddie cleaned up quite nice now that he wanted to give his teacher a good reputation. 

The three spent the majority of their time together, rather this be for work or leisure. Sometimes Edward would sleep over with Sam, often they’d share meals together, or even occasionally they’d go out to the garden and collect bugs. Even so, one of their favorite pastimes was rough housing with Fluffy in the living room. 

To the lonesome 11 year old, everyday was an adventure where suddenly his problems didn’t matter. To Samantha, she found a best friend who shared her unconventional interests of messy science projects and monster movies. To Maxis, he got the son he never had. However, now, he found himself tongue-tied by the two children.

 

Ludvig scratched at his neck, “Well Edward, I was offered work in America.”

“What’s wrong with this job?”

“Nothing at all I assure you, but in America I will get the job I have worked a long time for.”

“Hmm, ok! Why are you sad then? That’s a good thing.” 

The physical distance between France and America made little sense to a boy that had never traveled further than a few hour’s drive. Therefore, the doctor had to explain:

“You see, if I take this job I can no longer stay here and be your teacher.”

 

Samantha was unnaturally quiet as she clutched her favorite bear. Although she was just three years older than Richtofen, she certainly had more say in this conversation. Despite this, she did nothing but stare bitterly at her workbook.

Eddie quickly became frantic, “You’ll be gone forever?”

Doctor Maxis could only flinch, “I’m sorry, Edward.”

“Don’t go!”

“-It’s not that easy.”

There was a wavering in Eddie’s voice as he choked out, “Is it because you don’t want me? All the other kids say so.” 

Ludvig gasped, “How cruel! I would never spend two years on pity! You are a brilliant child, Edward.” 

 

He was not convinced, and tears fell in silence, “When?”

“In three weeks.”

Despair enveloped the young Edward, as his entire structure centered around his friend and his teacher. It was too soon, and he had no idea what would happen to him. Yet, as the boy contemplated this, Samantha appeared to whisper something brief in her dad’s ear. 

Maxis blinked incredulously.

“So?” Sam asked her dad anxiously.

Caught deep in his mind, he nodded, “I’ll talk to your mother.”

She did a small wiggle of anticipation in her seat, and rested her hands over her friend’s, “You have nothing to worry about, Teddy. No matter what happens.”

 

Just then, the clock chimed in time with the boy’s curfew. 

“We’ll see each other tomorrow, I promise.” Maxis nodded, “do you want a ride back?”

Edward muttered softly, “I’ll bike. It’s fine.” However, as he packed his things and left, Sam flashed a double thumbs up, but he was too busy looking upset to take this as a good sign.

 

The idea that he was unwanted did not shock Eddie. He knew the kind of person he was, he knew people called him a freak because his troubling hallucinations, he knew he could be scary. Teachers would call him a ‘social-path,’ or whatever the word was, when he acted out destructive tendencies. Starting little fires, fighting with other kids, or even falling into his turbulent moods all seemed to ostracize him further. He was simply clueless when it came to self-expression without someone to understand him.

In the end, Edward didn’t care what any of these strangers thought. As long as he had his self-made family, that was all the approval he needed. The foreigner just wanted to show that he could make something of himself even with his circumstances, and that Maxis was a great and caring man for giving him a chance. But now this would come to an end.

 

On the bike ride home, these worries only cycled and cycled with the winding spokes.

 

Meanwhile, Samantha and Maxis awaited Sophia’s return. 

Sam was a bit disgruntled that their entire future depended on her step-mother’s approval, especially given the weight of what she would have to agree to. Despite having known her as ‘mom’ since she was 8, Sam harbored a bit of detachment. However, this was not to be confused with loathing. In fact, she actually admired her mother’s sarcastic personality and strength. She wanted to be just like her. It was simply complicated feelings about a girl losing her mother at birth, yet finding a new one that was everything a mom should be. 

 

It was then that Sophia arrived, unlocking the door and carrying a stack of papers. The way the corkscrew curls of her afro fell signified a long day, and she looked exhausted.

Right away, Samantha greeted her with a hug, “Mom! Mom! Dad has something to ask you!” 

“Yes?” She looked over her glasses, already unamused, expecting something ridiculous.

“Well, you recall Edward don’t you?”

“Of course I do,” she joined the two at the table. “Did you finally tell him about the move?”

“We did, but well, Samantha...” he looked to his daughter, who hid behind her bear mischievously.

“So you know how I said I always wanted a sibling?“

“Oh my god, you want us to adopt him.” Sophia knew: this was indeed ridiculous.

“...What do you think?” The man chuckled anxiously.

His wife crossed her legs and thought very carefully, before mumbling, “I barely know him.”

“That’s not unusual for most adoptions,” Sam rationalized.

“Are we..well equipped? For his needs, I mean.”

Maxis added, “we got him to speak, did we not? I think a home is all he desires.” He then sighed, “Whatever the case, I know I want to look after him. It feels as though he is already kin.”

 

Sophia weighed the thoughts in her head. Making a child her own was not new, especially given her relationship with Samantha. Even though it was as quick as being her dad’s girlfriend one day, and being her mom the next, Sophia herself was easy to adjust on the behalf of love. Surely, the woman figured, it would not be too different to take in a son. 

 

Finally, she spoke, “...I think I want to talk to him first.”

Samantha shook her dad’s arm, “that’s not a no!”

 

——

 

The next morning, Edward arrived at Maxis’ home for his usual lessons. However, as he rang the doorbell he was surprised to see Sophia answer. Seldom did her work hours allow them to interact.

“Hey, Doctor Sophia,” he muttered, “where’s Maxis and Sam?”

She spoke carefully in her West African inflection, “they’ll be down shortly. Why don’t you come in?”

The boy returned the nod and did so, letting his backpack fall on the table with a light thud. 

While Fluffy sniffed a playful greeting to his hand, Sophia did not retreat as she normally would. Instead, she sat at the table with Eddie, and he became confused by her presence. It did not help that she was very hard to read, and thus her flat tone did little to hint at her intentions.

Sophia leaned over the table, “how have you been?”

“Ok, I guess.”

“How are you feeling about yesterday?”

“Sad.”

“Is it because you’ll miss us?”

“O‘Course” he muttered. 

What Edward was unaware of, was that Maxis and Sam were surveying the interview from the staircase behind. Even Samantha’s bear was perched to look as though it were observing as well. They silently cheered him on and prayed Sophia would accept him. 

‘Stop using one word answers!’ Sam coached lowly enough so Eddie wouldn’t actually hear. She then face-palmed as her mother asked, “have you got into any fights lately?”

“Yes.”

“I appreciate your honesty, but why get into those messes? Surely you don’t enjoy it.”

He frowned, “I don’t, but they were making fun of Sam.” 

Samantha herself was not aware of this, and let out a light gasp. His protective actions were touching, even if she was never one to dwell on petty gossip, nor be hurt by it.

“Oh,” the woman spoke, slightly annoyed her daughter didn’t tell her about this, “...Did you win?”

“No.”

Sophia only laughed at this. The brutal honesty of the child was certainly charming. It was then that she spotted a familiar composition notebook among Eddie’s work: deep blue with little spaceships and cartoon aliens on the front.

“Have you drawn anything new lately?” she swayed.

The boy became a little excited, “Yeah, you want to see?” and handed over the journal.

Sophia flipped through the pages, giggling at the child’s active imagination. There were a lot of drawings of he and Samantha fighting, what looked like, some sort of franken-zombies. As well as doodles of a 10-foot tall Fluffy being ridden by the whole family. To no surprise, these were accompanied by many sketches of centipedes, his favorite animal.

However, as she kept reading through, the woman began to recognize some of the works.

“Have you seen these before?”

Looking over, Eddie nodded, “Yeah. Maxis took us to a museum last week. The colors were pretty so I wanted to remember them.”

Sophia smiled, as the artwork was of her favorite artist, Claude Monet. Though messy and crude, the child was accurate in portraying the splotchy marks of pointillism and distinct themes of lily on water. She began to wonder what the trip was like to mean so much to Edward, to the point where she wished she could have been a part of it.

“You know,” Sophia smiled, “you and I should paint together. You’re very good, maybe I can show you how to use oil.”

“Really?” the child lit up. He frequently saw the evidence of her hobby laying around the house, always very tempted to try himself. However, he quickly recalled last night’s news and frowned, “but, you’re leaving. Maxis told me so.”

 

Here, she made one final attempt:

“...How exactly do you feel about Maxis?”

The boy hesitated to put the feelings into words. He felt a lot of things about Maxis, and Samantha, and even Sophia. They were his rock. They didn’t mind his oddities. They encouraged his curiosity. They were a family. 

Finally, Eddie whimpered, “Like he’s my dad. I don’t want to lose another dad.”

And that did it for Sophia.

 

She cooed gentle affirmations as she held the crying child close. “Hey, that’s alright Edward. I promise,” she said as she gestured a firm yes to her family standing behind his back., “there is no need to cry. He loves you very much, we all do.”

Sophia felt that she was never going to deny Edward in the first place, but to find out his true feelings was her real intention. Of course, she didn’t want it to come to tears. Though always well-meaning, her restricted means of self-expression made it hard to predict the impact of her words. 

After all, a part of her knew this would happen eventually. Nothing could fight her husband's soft-spot for those in need.

 

At last, Maxis and Sam joined them downstairs, and Fluffy danced around the crowd gleefully.

“Edward,” Maxis put his hand on the boy’s shoulder, “I have something very important to ask you.”

The boy looked up from Sophia’s shoulder, sniffling.

“Will you let us adopt you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sophia is West African because it's my story and I get to pick the canon. (West Africa was colonized by France so she's mixed and so on..)
> 
> Edward's destructive childhood is canonical, and honestly it's common for kids with early diagnosis. Self-expression is tough.
> 
> And yes, Sam calls him Teddy a lot :^) Happy family :^)


	12. The Midnight Bridge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something about being constantly soggy, performing back-alley surgery, and gay feelings.  
> (TW: Animal harm)

“Nikolai,” Edward exclaimed into the phone, “calm down, what’s wrong?”

“A dog! It was hit by car!” he explained over the sound of rainfall, “I cannot move him, he cries when I do so!”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“You are doctor!” The Russian said desperately, worry breaking up his learned english.

Richtofen threw his hands in the air as if Nikolai could see, “I’m a human doctor, not an animal doctor! Don’t you volunteer at a vet’s hospital?”

“I have never done surgery!”

“Neither have I!”

“Blood is blood and bones are bones, da?”

Edward sighed as he rested a hand on his forehead, “they certainly are.”

 

The German was enervated after the day spent running with Tank and his Daisy, and his skull still spun nauseating visions. The last thing he was in the mood for was a rescue mission. Instead, he was hoping for a warm bath to renew his shivering body, still drenched from the cold rain.  
Even so, he knew he had to help. His deep love for dogs would never allot forgiveness if the pathetic creature died. A small sacrifice to drop dead from fatigue, if it meant the hound could live.

….Potentially, that is.

Edward was still uncertain that his experience would translate well enough.

 

Convinced, the German spoke urgently, “ok, where are you? I’ll grab my medical bag and get there as quickly as possible.”

With that, Nikolai became optimistic, “thank you, Richtofen!”

 

\--------

 

Edward arrived at the scene and flashed the headlights of his car, illuminating the rainy street. The pools of blackened puddles made the road seem like a bottomless river, but he was not in the mood to think about rivers at the moment. He was more focused on the sight before him. 

Here, he found Nikolai in a raincoat, easing a small terrier, broken and bloodied, curbside on the empty backroad. The doctor quickly stepped out to his friend, rain tamping down his head.

“They did not even stop.” The Russian mumbled under his breath.

 

Now closer, he saw that the dog was indeed alive; yet, whining and struggling to breathe. Richtofen tugged on some gloves and palpated the animals chest.

“How is he?”

“Well, I don’t think he punctured a lung. But he has a few broken ribs.”

He moved his digits to the hound’s eyes, and peered one open to see it fully dilated into a glistening black orb. 

”Shock too… probably.” Richtofen assumed anxiously.

As Nikolai observed, the headlights of Edward’s car triggered the glow of the dog’s tapetum, frightening the larger man. It gave the hound the appearance of a reanimated beast. In fact, it would not be far-off to think Richtofen as a Doctor West in this scenario. The Russian nearly expected him to pull a glowing green serum from his bag and play the mad scientist.

 

Just then, Edward felt something warm and dense soaking the knee of his pants. He looked to find the terrier bleeding out as rainfall dashed its lifeblood in diluted streams. A splintering femur had broken skin, and caused trauma to the twitching thigh.

“Ok ok, Uhm,” he looked around frantically, and reached out for the Russian’s raincoat, “I need that.”

Nikolai did not need an explanation, and removed it with haste. From this, Edward folded it into a makeshift sling, and was quickly able to move the dog without exacerbating the wounds. He then crammed his cold and dripping body into the passenger seat of Nik’s SUV, and held the hound on his lap. His friend, meanwhile, did the honor of locking Edward’s car and presenting the keys. 

“Car will be safe, if anything happens I will take care of it,” he nodded, an obvious refusal to any debate.

The two traveled swiftly, a race to save the animal’s life.

 

As Nikolai and Edward dashed into the home, the Russian called out into the hall, “Takeo, clear table.” 

Richtofen‘s mismatched eyes darted, searching for a place to rest the broken form. Instead, he found several other dogs in recovery, all either bandaged or too weak to get up. There was also a cat or two lying docile on the couch, as well as birds stretching their wings from tinted cages. Richtofen recalled his Japanese friend explaining Nikolai’s volunteer work, but he didn’t realize the dedication it entailed. 

At last, Takeo himself emerged from the kitchen to greet his guest, that was, until he noticed the terrier stretched in his arms.

He instead swore in his native tongue, and cleared his books from the space.

 

Now with proper light, workspace, and medicine at his disposal, Richtofen could get to work. From his medical bag he held everything he would need. Everything, except painkiller or anesthetic. 

The anguished cries of the hound upset his weak stomach while lacerations were stitched and bone was reset. It nearly made Edward cry, as his empathy for the dog cause him to take on the pain just as it did. It was sadomasochism to his sensitive heart as he attempted to hold down the creature. However, he could not restrain his feelings for long, and let teardrops fall onto the muddied fur, face still fixed with intense focus. 

The hound only continued to thrash and scream on the table, sending blood and rain water everywhere like a flinging paintbrush.

Takeo and Nikolai attempted to help ease both the terrier and Richtofen with gentle affirmations. Rather it be by little touches or careful words. Even so, it was not until the dog became silenced, that Edward could calm down. Either the efforts worked, or the hound finally fainted. He was compelled to think the latter.

The couple could only watch as he put his skills to good use, and became lost in the technical details of such.

 

When Richtofen was satisfied with the cleaned wounds and sealed flesh, he removed his gloves with an exasperated sigh. Now, not only was he cold and wet, but there was blood everywhere. It looked as though he were a butcher, or perhaps a hunter; but here, he preferred a vet. 

 

Despite confusion, the man found himself equally exhilarated. Edward hadn’t performed procedures like this in a long time, and he had not yet applied to work at the hospital. Richtofen forgot what exactly he was capable of.

In the end: Proving himself felt good, helping felt better, but doing what he loved felt wonderful.

 

“Will he be alright?” Nikolai asked softly.

“I believe so,” he wiped his sweaty brow with a small smile, “I mean, it’s holding a pulse...”

Nikolai moved to the creature and rested his hand on its beating veins. 

Instead of a proper answer, he hugged the bloody man, “you’ve saved him!”

“Sorry for the mess,” he laughed, muffled by the Russian’s imposing size and great bear-hug.

Nik pulled away, his top now painted crimson from contact,“is alright, you can use our shower while I clean things up.”

Takeo added, “And I insist you stay for dinner, it’s the least we can do.”

 

This was an offer Edward could not refuse. He was still desperate for that hot bath and a warm meal. TV dinners and spaghetti became a drab routine back home, and having meals by himself was frankly pathetic. Likewise, the layers of filth coating skin worsened the German’s appearance as a mad doctor. He frowned and wished to be himself again as soon as possible.

“I will find you a change of clothes and leave it at the door,” Nikolai gestured to what was most likely the bathroom, “there should be towels for you as well.”

 

With Edward gone to wash, Takeo looked to his partner as he wiped down the table, “I told you he was not so bad.” This was spoken with utmost certainty, as he and Richtofen were becoming closer by their little interactions.

“Perhaps, but I’m still worried.”

The older man leaned, “are you sure you’re not being overprotective?”

Nikolai hesitated, “I don’t want Dempsey to get hurt again. Especially since the wounds Peter left are still fresh.” 

The writer quickly added in confession, “Though, I can’t say I’m too upset about that man’s disappearance. Honestly? I say good riddance.”

“Do not speak lightly about such things! We have no idea what's become of him.” Always one to take the high road, Takeo went on to justify, “he was an angry man, but that doesn’t mean I wish him suffering.”

“I do,” Nikolai smiled.

“Nikki!”

The Russian only snickered mischievously.

 

Easing up, Takeo still understood his partner, “you’re not wrong to worry, but you should not accept responsibility for his actions so readily. Tank is a strong man, but he also requires a tether to keep his feet on the ground.”

“There is something odd about the new ‘tether’ he is considering.”

Speaking flatly, the Asian raised with sarcasm, “He did us a favor. Precisely 30 minutes ago. You were there.” 

“Even the devil grants wishes.”

Takeo smirked, knowing his partner long enough to poke at his fears, “...Is it because he is a doctor?”

“No,” he shoved playfully before returning in earnest, “I fear that he needs Tank more than Tank needs him. He doesn’t seem well.”

The older man hugged Nikolai from behind, “there’s nothing wrong with lacking wellness, you and I both know. Even Dempsey, too, understands.”

“So long as you know your partner’s limit.” 

“And what is Dempsey’s limit?”

To this, the Russian had no answer.

“Besides,” Takeo uttered, “from his actions, he does not seem like one to feel pleasure from harming someone else.”

Nikolai squinted, “He may not be capable of sadistic violence, but righteous violence? I would think it suits him. Who smiles after vivisecting a dog?”

Takeo sighed in sympathy to his fiance. He knew that ultimately, Nikolai was well-intentioned. 

...Not to mention, his lover was insufferable when it came to stubborn beliefs.

Then, as the smaller man moved to the kitchen, he found several text messages from his American friend.  
Fearful, worrisome, confused.

 

Edward finally emerged from the bathroom, tense skin warmed and eased, while wearing what was probably Nikolai’s sweater. It hung baggy on his scrawny form, yet the height the two shared prevented it from completely consuming him. The doctor likewise found it comforting; the soft wool grazing his chest, the mustard yellow complimenting his sun-kissed skin, the intimacy of sharing one’s clothes. Part of him enjoyed being cared for like this, but then again, who would not appreciate selfless gestures. 

 

When it came to the humble home, it certainly gave an odd aesthetic of Japanese and Russian design. Hand painted matryoshkas and mounted swords. Stars of david and incense burners. Unlike Richtofen, they seemed very attached to their cultural identity. 

However, while Takeo kept many photos of family, Nikolai had none. Edward required no explanation for this. Besides, Dempsey shared that this was his motivation for taking on the role of protector. It was as if the Russian created a surrogate family of people who loved him for who he was, and whom he would love as well. 

Richtofen found himself privileged to never had dealt with the abandonment Nikolai experienced, yet the trauma still resonated. Desire, even more so.

 

Even so, this was still a home of two fans of literature. Messy stacks of papers and notes, books with no shelf, even notepads for their own musings ruled the halls. He began to wonder if his friends all had some sort of gay book club he was unaware of. 

However, Edward became excited upon seeing drawings among the clutter. Perhaps, the doctor considered, sketching would be nice to try once again. He recalled how much he enjoyed art, and held many warm memories of lessons with his mother. Naturally, he became too caught up in being an adult for hobbies, and put down his pencil. Yet now, it could be just what he needed.

Before his mind wandered to thoughts of drawing Dempsey, he slapped himself in the face. A gesture that spoke, ‘can you stop being weird for 5 seconds?!’ 

...He was glad no one saw that. 

 

Richtofen followed his nose as he stepped into the kitchen.

“Uh, hello,” Edward greeted timidly. 

Takeo smiled as he poured some drinks, “Are you feeling better?” 

“Yes, thank you. Can I help?”

“No, no. You just sit down,” to which the man did so reluctantly.

Nikolai carried plates to the table that had hosted the surgery only a few minutes ago. Of course, this did not bother the couple, nor the German. The three were well accustomed to the more visceral parts of life, rather it be by beast or man.

 

“I hope I’m not interrupting your night,” Edward scratched.

“Not at all,” the Japanese man assured, “you’ve done us a great favor.”

Richtofen blushed softly to this gratitude as Takeo passed his dish. It was a generous plate of steamed vegetables and chicken, with a glaze of some oriental sauce the doctor didn’t know the name of. The aroma was warm in his throat.

There weren’t enough compliments in the world that the German could offer to Takeo’s skills as a cook. All of which, embarrassed his friend. 

Edward had even mused with a smile, “I’m surprised to see you didn’t cook, Nikolai.” 

To which the older man smirked, “I cook at work, he cooks at home. It’s only fair.”

 

Richtofen almost felt like part of a family by their company, and with the lull in conversation, he wondered aloud:

“If you don’t mind my asking, but how did you two meet? Tank tells me you’ve been together for a very long time. It’s hard to imagine how you crossed paths, given your differences.”

Nikolai laced his fingers with his partner, eager to share and a smile lost in nostalgia, “Kyoto. I was a lonely tourist asking for directions, but it turns out he was lonesome too. It helped that we were both artists in some way, though, by different means.”

Takeo appeared to smile at the fond memory as well, “there was a language barrier too, but attempts were enough to understand one another. Though, Nikolai was never very good at Japanese.”

Nikolai shoved his fiance before he returned proudly, “I was there for some time, trying to figure out where to go. Then when I left, we became penpals, then used chat rooms, then texted… The occasional distance was unfortunate, but things worked out.”

“How long has it been? 12 years?” The Russian soon asked his partner.

“13, Nikki.”

“Hey, not in front of Edward!”

Richtofen giggled, made bashful by their adoration of each other, “that sounds like a dream to a hopeless romantic such as myself.”

Takeo leaned on his palms with warmth, “Well, maybe Dempsey…”

Going red, he mumbled, “are my feelings that obvious?”

“Very,” the two said in unison, and the flustered doctor hid his face in the baggy sleeves, to which the couple began to laugh.

“Gott, I’m an embarrassment,” he uttered into the sweater, blushing madly.

“A life lived without embarrassment is a life lived without honesty,” the shorter man rubbed his shoulder.

“I suppose,” Edward hummed, “But... maybe. I am far too shy for a confession like that.”

“Perhaps you should check on him tomorrow though, he’ll probably need some company.”

“Company? Why?”

“You didn’t get his texts?” Nikolai asked, “he sent them an hour ago.” 

The doctor discreetly unlocked his phone from under the table, only to find no new messages.

The Russian quickly answered the nonverbal query, “the police brought him in for questioning. They think he has something to do with that arm he found.”

“What?” Edward stuttered.

Takeo tried to settle his friend’s nerves, “but from the sound of it, the only evidence they have is coincidence. You don’t need to worry”

“...he doesn’t seem like the type to commit something like that at all.”

The two nodded in agreement, and the writer looked particularly unbothered, “It’s scary, but probably just precaution. He’ll be alright.”

“I hope. I’ll try to ask him over when things pass,” he nodded thoughtfully, until asking with cautious uncertainty, “Do you know if, well, if he is interested in me?”

“God yes!” Nikolai exclaimed with a slam onto the table, “He talks about you non-stop! Trust me, I know a lot more about it than I would care to.” 

Takeo chuckled while Richtofen expressed simultaneous butterflies and mortification. Who knows what precisely that entailed, and he was genuinely too afraid to ask.

 

\--------

 

Edward walked down the street, somehow renewed, yet very groggy. 

Before he left he gave the poor hound a quick stroke, and found it to awaken to his touch. It was exciting to help such a beautiful terrier, and Richtofen had even promised to return for a few check-ins. He now felt responsible for its future.

The doctor was left to wonder what would become of the lucky dog, or if perhaps he had finally proven himself to the suspicious Russian. Edward was neither stupid, nor emotionally stunted, nor blind. The Russian’s watchful eye made him finally realize that Tank had been hurt in the past. Nikolai was simply being a good friend, and the German admired that.

Besides, it would be no surprise if Dempsey’s potential for misguided affections would be his downfall. The long morning the two spent together was accurate in showing so, leaving careful touches that confused Richtofen about their mutual intentions. Yet, Edward struggled to imagine a force that could bring someone as proud as Dempsey down.

In the end, it was nice to share a meal with good company. Especially with fellow immigrants, who understood the alienation and uncertainty of somewhere new. This made Richtofen feel wanted, a need he so deeply craved.

 

Yet, in this moment, he held no energy to retrieve his vehicle from the barren roadside. He quickly surrendered to the idea of picking it up in the morning. Not to mention he had work to consider, and had no lesson prepared for tomorrow, and had not collected today’s sample from the river. All he wanted was to go home.

 

The rain had finally passed and the clear night sky had shown a galaxy of stars reflecting on obsidian puddles. 

The coolness of the breeze eased the summer heat to rest. 

The trees shook their goodnight’s as he moved lazily. 

Edward busied his hands by flicking his switchblade from it’s sheath now and then. 

The rhythmic clicks eased a lonely walk.

 

Suddenly, he was startled by the loud and familiar tolling of a bell. 

“Ah,” he quickly calmed, “so this is where it comes from.”

Before him stood an old church. It was small and wooden; not very modern by anyone’s standard, yet still quaint. The fact that it was shrouded by trees prevented him from seeing it sooner.

Out front stood a letter board hammered into the grass that read, “To whom sin is just words, salvation is just words too.” Edward was in no position to comprehend the meaning. Nor did he care to. 

Above the large double-doors, was a stained glass mosaic that told stories of miracles in a burst of color. This narrative continued along the tall windows that circled the building, with the yellowing light from inside illuminating the artwork. Not only this, but he could hear a choir rehearsing a song whose name lie on the tip of his tongue.

 

Edward was never raised into a proper religion, however, he still thought faith was a beautiful experience. Though he felt it did little to explain life, it was a humble gesture to have someone to thank for it. The modest artfulness of the chapel validated the sentiment. Had he not seen a figure standing on the steps, he would have appreciated the architecture a little more.

His interest fell as he realized that the shadow was Doctor Monty’s husband. Watching him. Edward knew nothing about the stranger aside from his name: Alistair. Of course, this was learned from conversations with Monty, and not the man himself. 

The ghost was leaning against one of the painted mosaiques, where a lamb was being slain by a glowing angel. This only served to intimidate the doctor; as if the position taken was purposefully, as if he were sending a message with this intense gaze. Richtofen looked away, pretending not to see the Louisiana apparition, and stomped off.

“What did I ever do to him,” Edward scoffed.

 

At last, the doctor reached his home. Yet, he still needed to collect a sample. Richtofen could not butcher this investigation under any circumstances... no matter how fearful he was of going alone. At night. With no one around.

 

As he took the familiar path to the bankside, he was followed by his new feline companion. Edward refused to address the presence of his frequent intruder, but the cat seemed interested in where he was going. It trotted ahead and paused, as if leading him to a treasure. Richtofen was at least grateful that this made him feel safer. If anyone planned on murdering him tonight, at least the cat could alert him of a lurking stranger. (This being a newer addition to his personal list of ‘things that make me paranoid,’ from a town where limbs appeared from the gutters with no origin.)

 

Getting closer, he scratched at the bug-bites under his cuffs with anxiety as his vision spun once again. As Edward finally reached the bitter water, his eyes quickly widened in alarm. 

After a moment of observing in outright disbelief, he cheered, “I knew it was real!” 

 

From the middle of the stream sat the perfect circle carved into the river bed. Dark, encompassing, void. Humming a song which caused reverberating waves on the water. 

A fog drifted over the pit, just as the first time, bearing a slight tinge of silver. It likewise carried no scent, but still weighed heavy in the man’s lungs. A feeling akin to the touch of humidity, only it rested internal.

Edward then began pointing frantically and exclaiming to the grey cat, “See! I’m not crazy!” 

Yet, the creature did nothing to validate his feelings of relief. 

 

Suddenly, without warning, a loud sound screamed at the back of his head. It sounded as if flies were burrowing in his skull, swarming, fleeing, drilling. Richtofen clutched his head with great intensity, hoping to alleviate the simultaneous pain with pressure, and closed himself into a ball. The buzzing rang so loud that it began to sound like rocks and earth tumbling in the distance, sweeping down mountains, uprooting trees, a landslide that stood as nature’s wall of sound.

A very sweaty Edward edged ever closer to the bank, hoping to get a better glimpse of what it concealed. 

However, the water rolled and rolled, and the volume grew and grew, voices becoming a hymn to life. It burned as tears of pain pricked his eyes. The doctor nearly began to beg for an answer as to what was happening to him, but there was noone to answer. He saw nothing.

He felt as though the force asked for something of great importance. Almost as if it was reaching out to him. As if he was the only one who could share its ethereal tongue. 

 

Then, tumbling earth was no longer an omen in his head. It became reality.

 

The ground gave way under Edward’s feet, and he tumbled into the cold blackened ravine.

 

The severed moon reflected on the turbulent ripples of his thrashing.

 

The buzzing would remain.

 

The grey cat lashed its tail and groomed its paws apathetically.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know how, if you take an animal's photo with flash, it's eyes glow? That's because they have something called a tapetum lucidum. It rests behind the retina and improves night vision.
> 
> Dr. West is the main character from H.P. Lovecraft's "Reanimator." Though, I was referencing the imagery from the 1985 movie.
> 
> Annnndddd Nikki is a private pet-name between Takeo and Nikolai ;^) Couldn't help myself to that sweet piece of low-hanging fruit.


	13. Sturdy White Oak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dempsey has a bad day.  
> Something about pride and responsibility.

It was all over the news: Gruesome images of a body found near a hiking trail. Discarded vicera by a storm drain. The death of a stranger. So much for living somewhere peaceful.  


Dempsey was glad he was never much of a jogger, the demographic always seemed to discover corpses in the brush. Either this, or they became a victim themselves.  


Oddly enough, the mechanic still counted himself lucky. Had this body not shown up, he would still be locked in an uncomfortable interrogation room. He was just as fortunate that the corpse was quartered with the same precise cuts of the gutter-arm.

 

A few days had passed since the incident, but the bitter memories still lie.

 

As it turned out, the marking on the shoulder was a tattoo: one which Tank was easily able to identify. It was the number of his battalion, accompanied by U.S. Marine Corps iconography. What crushed Dempsey’s psyche, was that Peter shared this memento with him. To make matters worse, the amputation was found to be done post-mortem. Even if they found the rest of Peter’s body, there was no chance he would ever be alive.

Police grilled Tank with questions: “Why didn’t you report his disappearance?” “What was the nature of your relationship?” “What did you two fight about the weeks before?” “Where is Smokey?” 

But of course, the marine was barely able to explain. 

Coping with the thought that his best friend was dead cut deep. 

Coping with the knowledge that he would never see him again broke him down. 

 

Tank wept bitterly from the police station, hiding his face in his hands, too proud to be seen chipping away like an old dam. Being cleared and released did little to ease the aching in his chest. 

 

For the remainder of the week he retreated home in isolation. He didn’t feel like talking to anyone.

 

Not even texts from Edward or Misty could get him out of bed, as all he could think of was the last moments he and Peter shared. Guilt consumed every moment. 

Never again, 

never again,

never again. 

“I will never have an argument again.” 

 

The whirlwind of emotions induced nausea from deep within. One moment it’s storming, the next he is in love, then he grieves, and then there is nothing. All Dempsey wanted was to wake up from the nightmare, but unlike his haunting dreams, there was no awakening from reality. 

 

...However, today, Dempsey made an exception to his newly acquired lifestyle as a hermit. 

He drove out to see his psychiatrist. 

Tank had appointments like these every week, just to look after himself. Although he refused to acknowledge how much he needed this, he still considered the trip to the countryside an act of self care. Now, all he could do was lean against the wood porch and wait for the doctor to finish his current session.

The soldier hummed idly as Daisy sauntered through the garden. He couldn’t help but feel bad for neglecting to walk her in his withdrawal, but she didn’t seem to mind. Air Conditioner was a blessing when the midsummer heat was rolling in. Therefore, the hound spent her days stretched out on her master’s bed, bathing in the sunlight trickling through the curtains. 

As he pondered the sweetness of her sleeping face, Daisy performed a kindly effort to ground Tank’s wandering mind. She climbed on the porch, and squeezed herself between the man and the wooden posts. Dempsey smiled and rubbed her side. She always knew what was best.

 

Suddenly, the great doors behind him opened, and the marine almost felt his stomach climb from his throat. The taste of bile, bitter and anxious.

“Oh, hey Doc!” He gasped and sprang nervously from his place. 

There, the German stood in the threshold accompanied by Doctor Monty Clemens. Although, to Tank’s alarm, Edward looked awful. 

Pale, weak, and sweaty. 

He looked as though he had seen death, and death told him he would be staying the week in his guestroom.

“Woah, you alright?”

“Dempsey!” the older man instead greeted with worrisome conviction, “I haven’t heard from you in days, where have you been?”

“Oh, uh, I’ve been really busy with work,” he lied, “I didn’t know Monty was your doctor too.”

“Yes, and I suppose you’re his next appointment?” 

“He is,” Monty answered for the mechanic, “but I’m sure you two can catch up later. I don’t want to deprive Tank of his time.”

The German nodded timidly, about to leave, and Dempsey offered a pathetic gesture to feel a little closer. He gingerly brushed Edward’s hand, a soothing graze of fingertips onto the back of his palm. Richtofen smiled softly, seemingly with understanding. He knew his friend was grieving, he knew he wanted to be alone, but he also knew that he missed him. Yet, the taller man quickly floated back to earth upon realizing his psychiatrist was watching this. 

As Edward retreated, he turned suddenly half way down the gravel road, 

“H-hey. If I text you again can you please reply? There’s a lot of scary stuff happening lately. I almost thought you disappeared as well.”

 

In that very moment, Tank became guilty that he only thought of himself in his isolation; creating the need to break down right then and there. He didn’t once consider how Richtofen, or anyone, felt about the empty replies. Nor did he consider that these vanishings were everyone’s problem, not simply his own. 

A person could rationalize one’s need for space after trauma, but that was never Dempsey’s nature. He was supposed to be there for everyone at anytime, and he wasn’t. He was supposed to be honest and open to those he loved. He was supposed to be a lot of things. 

 

The American finally choked out, “Alright, sorry for making you worry.”

“Thank you, Dempsey,” Edward smiled that tender smile which made Tank melt.

“Feel better, Doc,” and he crossed into the house.

 

Once inside and out of ear-shot, Monty gave his patient a funny look, “Don’t think I didn’t see that…”

“Shut up,” the soldier blushed and cast his gaze elsewhere, “what’s up with him, anyway? He doesn’t look too hot.”

The european waved absent-mindedly, “He’s had a fever for a few days. Something about spending a whole day in the rain. I’m certain he’ll be fine though.”

Dempsey made no reply as he considered bringing Edward some warm soup. He wasn’t much of a cook, but figured Takeo and Nikolai could lend him a hand. Besides, it would be nice to visit him again. If there was anything he craved, it was those aurora borealis eyes watching over him. 

There was no avoiding this; Tank missed him. Badly.  
At this point he was pining for the German’s attention. So much so, that he could recall his mother’s old saying, ‘absence may make a heart stronger, but fondness will make absence longer,’ and here, Dempsey was becoming extremely fond of Edward.

 

When they reached the living room, Monty’s husband stood as he served himself some tea.

“Hey, Pastor.” Dempsey waved.

Without a passing glance, the man quickly turned away and left as he pretended not to hear the greeting at all.

“I take it he’s in a good mood?” Tank said sarcastically.

“I fell in love with him for a reason,” the doctor sighed dreamily.

 

“So,” Monty began as he took his seat, “shit really hit the fan this week, huh?”

“I don’t even know where to start.” Dempsey sighed, annoyed.

“If I may, I’m a bit curious.”

Tank leaned back, “shoot.”

“How did you feel about seeing Edward here?”

Straight away, the soldier knew what Monty was doing, “Ugh, c’mon you already know.”

“Why don’t you tell me yourself?” The doctor poked mischievously.

“I know, I know. Stop with the pride. Accept myself. Blah blah blah.” He groaned, “Sorry if I don’t want everyone to think I’m a nutcase.” In that moment, Dempsey felt that he could practically hear Richtofen nagging him to stop talking bad about himself.

“Do you think Edward is a ‘nutcase’?”

“No way! I mean, he’s a bit jittery, but I don’t think he’s crazy.”

The doctor rose his arms theatrically, “Then why the fuck do you think that’s his impression seeing you here?” 

“I dunno. It’s something I can’t shake, that’s all.” 

Monty eased up, “Reframe your thinking. ‘I come here because I’m a weak pansy’ to ‘I come here because I’m strong enough to ask for help.’ Get it?” 

The marine did not look convinced, “Whatever.”

With a sigh, the doctor continued, “well. I heard about your ex. How have you been holding up?”

“Barely. The cops almost thought I did it. It was too perfect apparently: we fought and people knew, we broke up angry, he would still stay the night pretty often-”

Monty raised his brows in amusement, looking as though he was about to say something extremely inappropriate.

“Don’t. Even.” The soldier dead-panned.

To this, the doctor hummed nonchalantly, “just trying to lighten the mood. I thought you said you two made up?”

“I mean yea, but it was more along the lines of ‘I’ll leave you alone’, than ‘I never should have said those things.’ You know?” He sighed heavily, “I just figured he finally hopped that train and went North. I would rather pay for the damn ticket myself than use the money on funeral flowers.”

“Even after what he’s done to you?”

“I ain’t heartless.”

“Apparently you’re not wise either.”

Dempsey frowned, "to cast aside your heart, your feelings, for wisdom? That's a weak trade. Knowing your own heart is wisdom in itself."

Doctor Monty smirked sarcastically, “awww, Tank. Still a poet as ever, I see.”

“Please shut up.”

The older man soon laughed, “are you saying you forgive him? That you made Peter hurt you? That you still love him? Oh please.”

“Maybe I did push him, but it’s not like that any more. It’s more responsibility than love, like I was the one who killed him,” he lamented.

“I suppose that new body really saved your ass.”

“Kind of weird to think a murderer is my guardian angel,” Dempsey pondered, “I don’t look forward to finding out who it is though. Knowing my week, it’s another dead friend.”

There was a sudden crack in the soldier’s voice as he furthered his thoughts, “I don’t even know why someone would want him dead. He kept to himself; didn’t mess with no one.”

“...When’s the funeral?”

“In a few days, but it’s mostly symbolic since 95% of him is still missing.” Tank mumbled while rubbing his eyes, “I’m definitely going, but I’m not looking forward to seeing his family.” 

It took another few long moments for him to explain himself, “nothing personal, it’s just. They blame me. For not calling someone the moment I couldn’t find him. Maybe if I did, he’d still be alive.” 

Doctor Monty crossed his legs as he poked again, “but do you agree with them?”

“That it’s my fault?”

“Obviously.” 

Dempsey held himself as he hesitated to confess, “Yeah. Who cares if he’d get in trouble for having a gun, at least he’d still be here.”

“Anything past could be clear as day when observed in present.”

“Doesn’t make it suck any less… but I guess you of all people would understand better than anyone.”

“Well, my condolences anyway.” The doctor said with sincerity, “I know you cared about him very much.”

 

The marine frowned, feeling as though a word simple as ‘care’ severely downplayed the dedication and loyalty he showed for his friend. The two went through a lot. They knew each other since high school, went into the military, nearly lost themselves in the same firefight, and loved one another through and through. Dempsey was beginning to feel misunderstood by everyone, even his closest friends. Then again, with the recent understanding of Peter’s abuse, even he himself was beginning to become confused. It did not help that McCain’s passing would never allot proper closure.

 

Monty made a few notes in his pocket book before continuing, “Now. I hope you’ve at least been sleeping. You were bitching about that last time.”

“Not great, but it’s not because those usual dreams. Probably stress or something, not that that’s surprising.”

The older man sighed, already seeming to know the answer, “Have you been actually taking the pills?”

“No.” 

“Well, I can write something for you again. Only if you promise to fucking take them this time.” He bargained, “trust me, grieving is a hell of a lot easier when you don’t feel like collapsing from exhaustion. You being difficult does nothing for either of us.”

“...Fine,” the marine complied. 

 

Honestly, being unconscious for a few hours didn’t sound that bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know why I'm doing Peter like this, but to avoid confusion: yes this is the first time mentioning their relationship was romantic. Also first time mentioning Shadowman is a pastor, he talks so much about sin and redemption in canon so naturally I had to...


	14. Staccato

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A day spent stuck in the house reading little omens.

As Edward went to get the mail, he nearly dropped dead. However, this wasn’t the fever, nor exhaustion, nor anxiety. It was the sight of Dempsey walking down the street in full uniform. 

Richtofen swallowed the lump in his throat, and whispered under his trembling breath: 

“Ach du lieber gott.” 

Seldom did he slip into his native tongue, but this occasion was an exception.

 

Before him, the marine wore a finely pressed coat, white cap, and fitted white gloves; all of which made the blood rush straight to Edward’s head. Tank’s physique and perfect posture were likewise accentuated by the dress, creating a magnificent silhouette. 

Even Daisy stood proud, as Richtofen saw her on a leash for the first time; a harness of thick brown leather which complimented her golden coat. 

 

Still, the doctor was caught up by the actual, real, sword found tied around the man’s waist. Edward wondered if this was a normal thing for militaries, or if sword fighting was a part of basic training. He had seen some at Takeo’s house, but that actually made sense given his family trade. As for Dempsey owning one, it was simultaneously confusing and kind of hot.

 

Flustered, this only caused the need to run away as quickly as possible. There was no way the bashful man could handle speaking when his friend looked like this. Particularly since the fever clouded coherent thought. He only hoped that Dempsey hadn’t spotted him as he tried to slip away from view.  
But to Edward’s luck, Tank indeed saw him, and waved a cheery greeting.

“Dempsey, I almost couldn’t recognize you,” the older man laughed for no reason, “what’s the occasion?”

“Eh, funeral’s today. You’ve been feeling better?”

“A bit. My sinuses still feel stuffy though.”

“You look super red too, let me feel-“ 

He almost reached for Edward’s forehead, but the German stumbled back quickly, made anxious by the proximity, “oh yes. I mean, I’m still sick so. I think I should stay in today.”

Oblivious, but more likely distracted, the soldier nodded,“You want me to bring you more soup for later?”

“No no, you should spend time with Peter and his family today,” he suggested with sympathy, “I’m still really sorry for your loss. If you need to talk later...”

“Hey, it’s alright. I’ll be fine, Eddie,” Dempsey assured his friend, even though his expression didn’t agree.

 

Before the soldier left, he decided to make a humble gesture. It was partially a thanks for Richtofen’s sensitivity toward the matter at hand, but more so a subtle move to advance his romantic agenda. 

As to say that he’ll be thinking of his German friend. 

As to say ‘thank you for being there for me.’ 

As to say things will be ok, so long as he can return to Edward’s smiling face.

 

At least, these were the intentions engraved within the bones of his fingertips.

Here, Dempsey gingerly took one of the doctor’s hands into his own, appearing as though holding some delicate creature. Then, in a careful motion, he raised the doctor’s wrist to his lips, and pressed a kiss to the soft walnut skin. 

If the German’s blood were a teakettle, he’d be boiling over at this point. It felt as though he were being greeted by nobility, a knight of great honor from some far off land. A true suitor to him, the prince trapped in the tower of his mind. 

 

...How embarrassed Edward became of the analogy. 

 

The German kept his lips tightly clamped while he was dizzied by the tender display. Tank had noticed this, but only returned with a soft gaze.

“I’ll see ya later, Eddie,” and he lowered the sweating palm back to the doctor’s side with great care.

“Please say something for me,” Richtofen could only mumble.

 

As Dempsey made his way to the church, the doctor became a structure of dust and ash. The slightest breeze would cause him to disintegrate into nothing, and he could rejoin the atmosphere. 

Or at least, the man wished that were true. 

Perhaps slamming his hand in a car door would be successful in draining the oxytocin coursing through his body. Or tying himself to a log bound for a waterfall’s edge. Or self-immolating. 

Decisions, decisions. 

Honestly, Edward had no idea what the soldier saw in him, especially since he acted like a complete idiot whenever the two met. Juvenile adoration, a shyness akin to one’s first kiss.

 

Richtofen had often heard first loves seldom last, as feelings become clouded by want rather than need. Everyone wants to be loved one way or another; but to crave a certain person’s affection? To the point of longing? To pine? This was need which bred devotion. Loyalty to little touches and knowing gazes, desire to share the home inside one’s heart. A home, which the object of his affection had built with twisting roots and sturdy oak.

The German felt blessed to meet Tank Dempsey when he needed him most. 

Needed this most. 

Needed each other most. 

And strangely? Richtofen was equally as grateful that Dempsey was not his first. If Edward went back in time, he would happily allow some stranger to sabotage his car again. Even more so, if it meant he can take in the marine’s loving curiosity all over again. 

 

However, despite Dempsey’s bright smile, Richtofen recognized a tinge of restrained melancholy. This came as no surprise, yet, it was still hard seeing his friend like this. Tank would always glow, expressing so easily with his excited blue eyes. So vibrant, that even when they weren’t making eye-contact, the German could still feel warmth resting on his skin.

Edward pondered as to how he could bring this version of Dempsey back. Grieving was important, the doctor knew this all too well, but it seemed to reach further. Somewhere familiar. Somewhere dark. Somewhere uncertain.

 

Suddenly, there was a rustling in the brush as a familiar grey cat emerged, trotting over with purpose. It soon began rubbing itself against Edward’s pant leg and meowing loudly as it weaved. 

“I take it someone’s hungry,” the German laughed in response. It was rather endearing to see pollen and blossoms stuck to the creature’s short coat.

 

Richtofen had recently taken it upon himself to start feeding the cat. If it was going to stalk him around his own yard and yeowl violently in the night, at least it should have something in its stomach. Though the feline was annoying, that didn’t mean he wanted the poor thing to starve. 

...Still, even with Edward’s efforts to care for the cat, it refused to let him pet it. The man almost considered blood sacrifice as a means of pleasing the creature if free food wasn’t doing the trick.

 

The German crossed through his house, picking a can of smoked fish from the kitchen as the small figure trailed behind. The weather today seemed particularly bearable enough to spend some time in the sun. Yes, he told Dempsey he would stay inside, but seldom did he take his own advice. Besides, his new companion had no manners when it came to eating, and would otherwise make a mess.

 

Just as he thought he would have an easy morning, the man recognized the sound of skittering tendrils on linoleum; a noise which frequented the space as of late.

Edward searched the little corners of the room with squinting eyes, until he found some odd insect hiding in the shadows. Actually, it looked more like a giant bacteriophage than some bug; an angular lightbulb-esque body crawling on spider’s legs. The color, meanwhile, a fracture that shifted into stained glass illuminations. 

The man began to sweat with anxiety.

Soon, it was joined by an even more familiar sight; tiny holes boring their way through the walls, a similar fashion to how a worm eats its way through an apple. 

The flies in his brain began to swirl, and Edward became heavy with fatigue and confusion.

 

Despite whatever was happening, he knew it wasn’t real. He was certain that this was the fever. 

 

Edward had already felt light on his feet for the past week. So much so, that he swore he could hear a slide whistle as his consciousness left his body now and then. Even drifting close to his corporeal self as if his soul were a balloon tied to a corpse. 

All Richtofen could do was press hard on his pulsing skull and hope the headache would go away.

 

Refusing to submit, he stomped his boot loudly, shouting at the hallucination, “leave me be!”

It quickly worked, and the apparition disappeared into nothingness after the fractures of color folded into themselves. Evidently, the cat was likewise frightened by the show of force. It scrambled on the unsecure footing of the wooden floor, and dashed upstairs to take cover.

“No, not you, cat!” Edward called as he struggled to follow it upstairs, “I’m sorry!”

 

Fortunately, Richtofen was quick to find the feline cowering under his bed. Often was this its place of retreat, after all. 

 

It’s eyes glowed a toxic green from the darkness below.

“Come here, I’m sorry,” the German cooed, almost singing.

“I have tasty fish for you,” he bargained while waving the can in its face. 

Yet, before he could continue his pleas, he found Fluffy’s ashes still in its former tin tucked away. Longing for a place to find rest. 

In an awkward motion, he stretched for the box that was just out of reach, and dusted it off.

“I should take care of this... when I feel well enough to go into town, that is,” the doctor mumbled, tracing the thin engravings with his thumb. 

Edward was still reluctant to open the casket. Not so much for the ash and bone, he was never fearful of the macabre. Fear lie in the letters he and Samantha left buried inside. There would be nothing to stop him from re-reading them, and doing so would certainly end in tears. It was frightening to see that thoughts and feelings could be captured like a photograph, and used to immortalize the brief moment. Here, the moment would only sting in fresh wounds.

 

....Eddie wanted to see his sister again.

 

The cat was seemingly capable of reading the uncomfortable air, and re-emerged from its hiding place. It’s meow was loud enough to snap Richtofen from his thoughts, just before his mind wandered to somewhere it wouldn’t be able to return.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he smiled down softly, brow still sweating, “let’s feed you,” and the two made way for the backyard.

 

The can of smoked fished cracked as he pulled the tab, the morning sky breezy and blue. 

Small winged insects dancing in the tall grass. 

The re-planted dogwood tree barked in bloom. 

It wouldn’t rain today.

 

The greedy feline gulped down the offering as if it hadn’t eaten in days, when Edward knew good and well it had dinner last night. No offense was found of course, it was simply a silly observation to the soft-spoken doctor. 

 

With the peace that surrounded him, he reflected on his conversation with Monty a few days ago. Something he had been avoiding to the best of his ability, but only now found enough ease to revisit.

 

———

 

“I don’t know,” the German confessed from the sanctity of his psychiatrist’s sitting room, “I still don’t think I’m ready to speak about family.”

“I just want to understand your needs a little better. Knowing one’s upbringing can tell a lot about a person.” Monty reasoned.

“What about you? Have you ever had a family?”

The old man gestured to himself sarcastically , “look at me! I’m one hundred years old at least. Do you really think there’s anyone left?”

Edward found it appropriate to laugh, “maybe not. I was more so asking if you and your husband ever had kids.”

He smiled as he appeared to retreat into the memory, “If that’s the case, then yes. In fact, they were adopted just like you.” However, this smile quickly dropped into a look of discomfort, “but you know how things go. They’re off somewhere else these days.”

The expression did not suit the boisterous old man at all. In fact, Richtofen didn’t expect him to actually validate the thought. It was difficult for Edward to picture someone as intense and brash as Monty, or cold and flat like Alister, to ever raise children. Or at least, to raise them into sensible and mature adults. Naturally, the younger man wouldn’t dare consider offending his therapist by sharing this.

 

“Have you ever known your birth family?” Monty wondered.

“Weak segue, Doctor.”

“It was worth a shot.”

The German hummed with compliance, frankly comfortable with breaching the subject, “but no. Not technically, I’ve just forgotten them.”

“A repressed memory? Or were you too young?”

“Neither. The circumstances of their loss simply messed with my brain chemistry.”

The psychiatrist cocked an eyebrow with great curiosity, “well, now you have to tell me.”

“This is just what I’ve been told, but there was a gas leak in my home,” Edward recollected, “everyone went peacefully in their sleep, and the ambulance had arrived before I joined them.”

Only now did the German become uncomfortable, “I was asphyxiated, but not to the degree of my family. Simply deprived of oxygen long enough that it may have done some… irreparable damage.”

“But you survived.”

“By chance. My parents shared the room with my baby sister, the one where it actually happened. I slept upstairs, so I had more time when our neighbors began to smell it.”

“You don’t seem too upset about their fate.”

Richtofen shrugged, “since I don’t remember directly, they’re more of a story than something I was attached to. Maxis and Sophia were more parents to me than they ever were.”

Doctor Monty was taken aback, “that’s uncharacteristically cold of you, don’t you think?”

“I have enough to be worried about. I don’t need to fret over something that happened when I was 8.”

The psychiatrist was not convinced, “you know, it’s alright to miss your birth family.”

“I don’t.”

“Or be angry.”

“I’m not.”

“Well, thank you for your trust. I know you’re one to need time before delving into certain topics; but anything, especially physical trauma, is important for me to know.”

Edward fiddled with his hands, “I suppose I understand,” and hesitated before posing with distress, “but I can tell you this: although headaches have been frequent throughout my life, these recent spells are not from physical trauma.”

Monty reclined, “dizziness is a very common symptom of fever. You shouldn’t worry yourself since it retreats now and then.”

“...I guess it does come to plateau. To be honest, I’m more worried about losing my sanity than a little fever. Especially with a mad-man running around.”

“Yes, well, we can discuss that next time. I have another client waiting if you don’t mind.”

“Of course,” Richtofen nodded, “thank you for seeing me on such short notice.”

“Don’t worry about it,” the old doctor assured, “I know you’ve had too much time to yourself these days,” and the two made way to the front door.

 

And there, as they crossed the threshold, Edward saw his beloved Dempsey leaning on the porch.

——

So many complicated feelings from that day, most of which still unresolved. A family of strangers, near death experiences, seeing his love after pining for so long… it left too many doors open in his mind’s labyrinth. Yet, despite Monty’s assertion that physical health was just as important, Richtofen was reluctant to share his worsening condition. Three parts embarrassment, and one part fearful of a forced hospitalization... The latter becoming the very last thing Edward needed to deal with. 

How stupid he felt; to think one could drink fallen rain and taste the sky, or stumble into a poison river, without consequence.

 

At last, the sound of a dry tongue on smooth steel caught his attention, and he looked to see the cat desperately licking for every last drop of flavor in the otherwise empty can.

“You’re going to cut yourself,” the doctor nagged gently as he pulled the tin away.

To this, the feline hissed at him loudly, and dashed swiftly into the brush.

“So that’s how it is!” He called after the creature, “See if I care!... You’ll be lucky to be fed again, you know!”

 

Of course, Edward didn’t actually mean that. He knew very well that he was happy to feed it again for dinner.

 

Before the doctor could make it back inside, a strange pile of twigs and weeds caught his mismatched eyes. Seeing that this was on top the mound of freshly overturned earth, where he had buried certain acts of catharsis, he cautiously moved to investigate. He had really hoped that no one messed with this alter to his heartache. Any sort of explanation for what lie would make him seem mad. At least, Richtofen figured so.

Yet, upon closer observation, he found the tangled branches to be a birds nest. And to his excitement, he began to hear subtle cries of lost hatchlings. Gingerly, he pushed the debri away to find ugly balls of fleshy grey skin and sparse feathers. It was then that some sort of paternal instinct overtook the doctor.

One by one, Edward cupped them in his hands and placed then into a hammock he made from the excess of his shirt. They screeched and opened their gaping beaks, begging for food. It was a relief to see that the creatures didn’t seem injured, it was a soft landing after all. 

The man at least hoped these weren’t the hatchlings of crows. Richtofen often heard stories of the mob mentality corvids held when perceiving a ‘predator.’ So much so, that the large birds would remember the individual, even after years apart, only to torment them again. It was just as unnerving that the crows spread the news of danger to rally flock members that were not even present. Hell, even generations to come would learn of the grudge.

 

Carrying the chicks into his home, he used a dish towel and a bowl to create a make-shift nest. 

If anyone knew what to do, it would be Nikolai. Therefore, the German quickly snapped a photo and texted anxiously.

_Hello Nikolai. I found some hatchlings fallen from their nest. What should I do? >_

_< Hello, doctor. Please make sure the mother isn’t still around._

 

Quickly, Edward peaked outside. There was no sound of stirring foliage, nor the cries of some bird.

 

_I’m pretty certain they’ve been abandoned… >_  
< Keep them warm. I could pick them up tonight if you would like?  
I think I would like to watch them myself. I’m feeling fatherly :^) >  
< Alright. Remember to feed them often, and don’t hesitate to call if you need anything.  
Do you know what kind of birds they are? >  
< Crows. 

Richtofen looked to the cluster of chicks as they cried out pathetically and huddled for warmth. 

 

Bad omens became Edward Richtofen’s sons and daughters.

 

Clouds peppered melon skies.

 

The church bells tolled in the distance.

 

Somewhere, a marine folded a flag.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Staccato is a musical style "with each sound or note sharply detached or separated from the others."
> 
> I tried to avoid being melodramatic with the loss of Ed's birth family... These days I hear new houses/hotels have carbon monoxide detectors though. That's pretty cool.


	15. Emotional Landmines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Guys night" with Dempsey and Nikolai.  
> TW // Abuse mentions

A few nights after the funeral, Dempsey was finally able to sleep. Of course, this was purely thanks to the new medicine. Had he not tried it, his wandering mind would never allot ease. 

However, this rest did not fall gracefully like a blanket. Instead, it fell like a piano crushing a cartoon character. Here, he found himself the coyote chasing peace of mind.

_Pitch black. No sound._

_Then, suddenly, a bright flash. Like stepping from a dark theater into daylight._

_The sun itself was covered in a cloud of brown dust, but had still shown glowing dimly like a golden eye. Accompanying this was the sound of wind chimes and chirping birds. Unsettling. Not real. Not likely._

_Dempsey stood in the wake of the dusty scene which stirred around him, heavy with the weight of combat fatigues and gear. Lost? Or forgotten? Not sure._

_Streaks of white zoomed past with no trace of origin, and the marine threw himself to the floor to crawl in search of cover. Once behind dry brush, Tank lay on his back; clutching a rifle, yet no intention to fire. Blood on his dusty hands._

_As Dempsey contemplated where to go, a hum joined the odd ringing, one which steadily grew louder and louder. It reminded him of the previews on his childhood vhs tapes; which would start low and become a glowing chorus that threatened to wake his sleeping mother. What sort of things in a place like this would make such a sound?_

_Without thinking, the soldier ran. Dashing as far as he could, ignoring the sweat that soaked his brow, wishing that his vision would steady, pumped with adrenaline that carried him further. No destination besides ‘not here.’_

_His sight became consumed by a flashing strobe, creating the illusion that he was moving much faster. Just like passing through tunnel road._

_It was then that he finally crossed the dust onto a reflecting lake, one which mirrored the clear blue sky. A second atmosphere that held his footing. Unnatural._

_The man gazed at his reflection in the water beneath, and soon realized a warm stickiness soak his collar. He brushed his palm against the stain, blinking at the sight of gore and viscera. He didn’t even know he was shot._

_Before Tank could make his next move, he heard a handgun cock from behind. Slowly he turned._

_A monster, a lion, an enemy?_

_Two children, trembling at the sight of Dempsey. A scene which broke the man’s heart._

_He stepped back, boots becoming drenched by water as it gave slightly to his weight._

_Afraid to go forward, he instead reached out to the two siblings._

_The older brother pulled the trigger._

_With this, hot iron burned through his chest, tearing through skin and bone. Lungs struggling as they attempted to inhale the blood which filled them. The water around him becoming a swirl if red and aqua paint as he collapsed into the second sky._

_He drifted lower and lower, and the water grew bluer and bluer, fighting the pull of his gear harder and harder._

_Then, as Dempsey witnessed the two children floating down beside him, streaming red just as he was, his reflexes instinctively gasped for air. They were kids. They were kids._

_He gulped the bitter ice water._

_Needles in blood._

_Rust and steal._

_Unnatural._

 

Tank woke up to find Daisy lapping his face furiously.

“Please, Daze,” he pushed her snout away with a shaking groan. 

From the racing heart, sweat drenched bed, and trembling body, he had another night terror. It likewise appeared as though Daisy attempted to wake him, but the medication was strong enough to resist these efforts.

 

The man sat up to rest his face in his hands. What a dilemma he faced: to choose between staying awake to feel miserable about Peter, or falling asleep to feel miserable about trauma. 

 

Instead of taking his medication to ease the panic, the soldier in him said to tough it out. 

_Oh, misguided shame._

Dempsey stood and began to pace within the small circle of his room. He shoved his hands in his pockets, attempting to distract himself.

_Maybe a movie would help? Or plucking a few guitar strings? A song needs writing._

Suddenly, Daisy stood and moved to the inside of the invisible circle, pressing herself against her master’s body, shoving her greying muzzle into his arm.

_Things were getting lonely, huh?_

“It’s ok, girl,” he mumbled, eyes lost to something incorporeal.

 

These darting thoughts only seemed to aggravate his anxiety as his body became convinced he was still in danger. 

His chest tightened as though his heart were a rubber band being pulled and twisted to its limit. It became hard to breathe, like he was trying to do so while smothered by a pillow. He swirled into a carousel of nausea and pain. Acid burned at his diaphragm. Then finally, he really needed to lie back down.

 

_To bring a war home._

 

Although Tank was now stretched out on his bed, sleep wouldn’t return. Despite this, he was able to smile as Daisy lay across his chest. Heavy and soft. At least she would never judge.

 

Rather than stay home, the man resolved to sleep over at Nikolai and Takeo’s… only after a quick shower. 

Nikolai was swift to reply to Dempsey’s request, thoroughly accustomed to late nights like these. Evidently, Takeo was out preparing his garden for coming fall, and the writer was lonely anyway. June evenings often granted this routine of companionship between Tank and his Russian friend.

 

As Dempsey traveled absent mindedly to his friend’s home, Daisy in towe and a six pack for an offering, he came to Helen’s bridge. The haunted ground where a mother died guilted by her daughter's death. 

...Only now did this lore began to resonate. 

The soldier paused in the middle of the overhang and gazed down at the drop. Perhaps, if the street were unlit, the bottom would seem endless. 

It only took a moment for Dempsey to consider jumping. 

 

‘A beautiful place to die,’ Tank always called it. He wouldn’t have to battle sleep, or feel guilty, or lie about anything ever again. It’d be like flicking off a lightswitch. Over in a second with no consequences. Affairs all left to their own devices.

However, in this state of despair, he nearly forgot Daisy’s morning kisses, breakfast at Nikolai’s, fishing with Misty, Edward’s dorky smile. Though this low was extreme, Dempsey was surprised that it didn’t make the good feel cheap. The little gestures of the universe were enough.

‘Nah,’ he thought, ‘not today at least.’

 

\------

 

“Dude, it’s like 11pm, how are you so awake right now?” 

“I’m always happy to see you, Dempsey!” Nikolai grinned from the doorway of his home. He looked particularly comfortable in basketball shorts and a t-shirt for some folk band. The marine wasn’t surprised his friend never became accustomed to American summers, especially since Nikolai considered anything above 50 degrees to be unbearable. 

 

Upon entering the humble estate, Daisy quickly joined the resting dogs in the hall. The old girl was seemingly pleased by their better health, greeting the familiar faces with a wagging tail and a kiss or two. Not even cats were spared from her affection as they flinched at the unwanted touch. However, one dog in particular caught both her and Tank’s attention: a small terrier, timid and shy, bright-eyed, yet too weak to rise.

“This one new?” Tank asked, kneeling to pet the small creature.

“Kind of, he’s been here for about a week,” Nikolai scratched, “hit by a car.”

“Damn, that must of been one hell of a hospital visit. Poor guy.”

He hesitated, “actually, Edward took care of him.”

The dog licked Dempsey’s hand gingerly as he muttered with softened intonation, “... Eddie sure is something special.”

Nikolai lightly replied, “he didn’t have to help, but I’m grateful he did. He’s been coming by to check on the progress too. I’m almost starting to think he wants to keep him.”

“Does it have a name?”

“Not yet.”

“Maybe you should let Ed name him.” Tank smiled again, warmed by the selflessness of his beloved.

“...Maybe.” The cook shrugged. It was obvious Nikolai was still wary of the newcomer, but Dempsey was at least happy to hear him say something positive about Richtofen for once.

 

“So,” the Russian spoke as he plopped on the couch and cracked open a beer, “what’s troubling you? Is it love?”

To this, Tank shoved the larger man with a subtle blush, “Straight to the point, huh? You know damn well I’m dealing with a lot right now.”

“Everyone’s been worried. We haven’t heard much since the police took you in. How have you been managing?”

“I don’t know. It still doesn’t feel real to be honest,” Dempsey sighed, “I don’t think it will until we find the rest of him.” 

The Marine laid back on the recliner and took a large sip, the bitter taste of barley and wheat on his tongue, “I kinda want to lay off the heavy stuff tonight though.”

“Regardless, you should come back to the diner. We miss you.” Nikolai nodded thoughtfully.

“I’ll try. Being locked up is messing with me anyway.” 

 

Tank paused for a moment, only to ponder shyly, “has...Eddie said anything?”

“Just wondering where you’ve been is all.”

“Ah. Have you told him about Peter and I?”

“Is not really my place.”

“I think it would make things weird anyway.” Dempsey shrugged.

“Make things weird? Or make it harder for you two to date?” The Russian teased.

“Nikkkkk-,” he whined.

“But, he did ask if you were interested in him a few times.”

“Really?” Tank became excited.

“Yes, but I will only share this for your own good. I don’t think he’s well.”

Dempsey cooled his hands on the condensation against the can, “there ain’t nothing wrong with being a little skittish.”

“...Tank. It’s not your job to fix him. And after what Peter did to you? You shouldn’t trouble yourself.”

“McCain had an addiction. It wasn’t his fault.” The marine dead-panned.

“Why do you always blame yourself? He hit you, Tank. Alcohol does not make an abuser of a man that is not abusive. Only judgement is clouded.”

Dempsey flinched at the harsh memory. To him, it was ‘just’ a shove, then ‘just’ a smack, then ‘just’ a punch. To his friends, whom were not clouded by feelings of responsibility, it was obviously abuse. Of course, the man knew now that Peter’s behavior was wrong. Yet, Tank still recognized the curse of addiction. It changed the man he fell in love with.

 

Complicated grey areas of sympathy and loathing.

 

In the end: although pride prevented the mechanic from calling it what it was, he was determined to never let this happen again. 

Thus, Tank defended Edward, “he wouldn’t hurt a fly. That’s not the kind of person he is.”

Nikolai squinted, “you know what I saw on my way home? He was staring at nothing and talking to himself. It was like he was saying something of great urgency, and he trembled like leaf.”

Dempsey was startled, he didn’t know Eddie was that sick.

The Russian added, “In fact, he’s been spacing out and struggling to hold himself.” 

“Monty said he had a fever, those can do funky things to your head,” he frowned, “but he should really go to the hospital.”

“He sees Monty too?”

“Yea?”

“Do you know why?” Nikolai hesitated to ask.

Dempsey cast a melancholic gaze to the floor, “He always looks real sad if he thinks no one’s looking. If that’s why, I’m glad he’s working on it.”

“Hm,” was all the Russian could muster.

 

In a non-confrontational tone, Tank was left to ask, “what’s your damage with him anyway?” 

“I just think it’s a bit odd,” Nikolai confessed.

“What part exactly?”

“Just the coincidence of it all. That your two friends disappeared as Richtofen arrived.”

“...”

“And after they find bodies, he becomes ill and starts wandering around in a catatonic state, speaking nonsense.”

“Eddie has nothing to do with Peter or Smokey. Don’t fool around like that.”

“I’m just telling you because you’re my friend.”

To this, Dempsey sighed and reached for another can, “I know. I just really like him, and I know he likes me too. Besides, there’s no reason he would do something like that. They’re strangers to each other.”

The Russian resigned, “alright, alright. I will trust your judgement for now.” His lovestruck friend was definitely the most stubborn person he knew. A difficult position to take, as anyone could agree that Nikolai was more so. 

Still, perhaps Dempsey was right; perhaps the writer had been analyzing things too closely. It was never an assumption that Tank could not defend himself, the Russian just knew that his companion was too protective to leave those he found to struggle. Magnetism to lonely souls.

“How have you two been coming along then?” Nikolai finally relaxed.

“Oh! Didn’t I tell you? He let me hold his hand the other day.”

“Really now?”

“Yeah! It was real romantic, but his palms were sweaty and gross.”

Nik made a hardy laugh, “I would think so. When will you ask him out?”

“Either on the 4th of July or the bonfire. I haven’t decided yet,” the marine blushed and cupped the drink in his hands, “just need to work up the nerve is all.”

Nikolai patted his friend on the back, “well, if he’s as good as you say, I don’t think you’ll have to worry for the worst.”

 

\-----

 

It was only by his third drink that Tank was already slurring his affections for the German doctor. Though Nikolai’s tolerance was far higher, (thanks to heritage alone,) he still felt buzzed and light-hearted by his friend’s company.

“I’d be over the moon just to kiss him. Just once. He looks like he knows a thing or two on how to please a guy.” Dempsey then giggled mischievously, “is Tak a good kisser?”

Nikolai laughed, “very!”

“Damnnn, you’re so lucky. Takeo’s, like, super hot. I ain’t going to steal him though, don’t worry.” 

It wasn’t like Nikolai took him seriously, though, he was still amused by the honesty.

“Peter was good too, but he was sooooo mean. Like, what’d I ever do to him? Whenever he took the lead it was like he wanted to choke me to death. Hell, even when I lead that’s all he wanted.”

“You know what?” Dempsey quickly added, “you guys are onto something. All that stupid bullshit McCain put me through? Saying he had to hurt me so he wouldn’t hurt himself? I’m glad it’s none of my business anymore. I can do anything I want!” He slipped into a mocking tone, “no more ‘don’t hang out with other guys,’ or ‘you don’t know anything about me’ shit. Free!”

Nikolai couldn’t help but happily agree, even if hearing these details always hurt, “you were never at fault anyway. That was a battle between his own demons.”

“Fuck yeah! Like, I think I’m a damn good guy. I don’t ask for nothin’ in return besides a little respect.” Dempsey then blushed madly as he grinned “And honestly? I fucking deserve that hot doctor.”

“Not really my type, but he certainly cares about you. Perhaps you are also onto something, my friend.”

“I know, right? He’s so smart. I wish I had half the brains he’s got. I think he could ‘get me,’ you know? Seems like his gears are always turning.”

“But gooooodddd, seriously-” Tank soon sighed dreamily, “Eddie’s like? Crazy hot. Like, Jesus Christ if his parents were still alive I’d tell ‘em ‘great job,’ you know?”

“Are his parents really gone, or is that the beer speaking?” the Russian raised his brows.

“Nooooo, that’s tooooo sad. I wouldn’t joke about that, Nik,” he rolled pathetically, “I def’ found out in the worst way though. I told him he looked adopted when I saw him with some pasty white people and a black mom. I’m the worrrrrrst, Nik. That was forever ago and I keep thinking about it.”

 

Frankly, Nikolai often let slip the penalty of his friends trying to keep up with him, and laughed, “I forgot how much of a lightweight you were, Dempsey. You become quite the chatterbox.” 

“I should text him an apology-”

Tank’s friend snatched the phone the moment it was pulled from his pocket, “oh no you don’t!”

“Whyyy?” The soldier frowned, appearing as though deeply hurt.

“You are not texting anyone right now. In fact, you should go to sleep. You’ve had enough.”

“Noooooo,” Tank whined again, “I miss him.”

“Yesssss,” he teased, “if anything is going to get in the way of you and Edward, it’s the obscenities of your drunk texting.”

“Nik, you’re the best,” Dempsey hummed, “you always know what’s best.”

The Russian took the alcohol from Dempsey and gathered his things, “Alright, Tank. It’s time to sleep now.”

“I love youuuu.”

“I love you too, Tank. Now go to sleep.”

“Thanks for looking after meeee.”

“I’m going to turn the light off now.”

“Ugh, ok,” he dropped backward onto the couch, “goodnighttt.”

“Goodnight, Tank.”

 

Dempsey shut his eyes with the flipping light switch, and passed out.

Nikolai sat in his room, typing away late-night musings on his computer.

 

Somewhere else, Takeo picked dirt from his nails as he made his way home.

 

Somewhere further, Richtofen clutched his beating skull.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying to ease into a bit more of Dempsey's past? He's allowed to have feelings too :^/
> 
> Also, there's this book on abuse called "Why does he do that?" by Lundy Bancroft. It's pretty informative for victims, people questioning what and what isn't abuse, or those afraid for their friends. It's super great at disproving a lot of myths too; like how the author talks about addiction and it's place as something 'causing abuse.'  
> It mostly speaks from a cishet perspective, but the arguments and stories still translate well enough to any sort of relationship I think?


	16. A Festival of Lanterns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dempsey makes a house call.

Tender, merciful, peace; 

found in empty spaces.

A tower, cut paper.

Empty spaces,

empty spaces.

 

From Edward’s kitchen, smells of garlic and spice danced from a steaming pot. Carrots and mushroom; chicken broth and toasted bread.

To the German, the best thing about Dempsey in his kitchen, was the fact that it was Dempsey. In his kitchen. A missing piece that abolished loneliness; sharing an afternoon with his better half as he overcame his fever. 

By the sliding door lay Daisy, basking in the warm sunlight which contrasted the icy air conditioning. Her coat was a shine of golden flecks in the otherwise dim room. She was the sun. 

 

As the hound snored, the only sounds to accompany this were the calls of eight hungry crows upstairs, and the subtle hum of science equipment on the coffee table. Ticking meters and boiling concoctions; a project which began to yield results. 

Edward felt that a celebration was in order, as his fears became validated. Ammonia, nitrogen, and several other chemicals spiked, accumulating more and more by the day. Yet even so, he was not much of a chemist, and would need to ask Doctor Schuster for his thoughts once he returned for the fall semester. 

Still, something else lie in the shadow of victory. Feelings akin to walking with a pebble in one’s shoes. Not unbearable, but Richtofen had no idea how it got there, and attempts to shake the stone were futile at best. Even if the shaking effort granted respite, it was only a matter of time until the tedious poking would return. Reminding him over and over that it was still there.

Perhaps, it was a matter of finding trust in Dempsey. Past experiences spoke volumes for the doctor’s ability to do so. Though, it was not like he didn’t want to try.  
One does their best.

 

As for the baby crows, they were doing exceptionally well. Although still ugly little balls of flesh, their dark plumage was starting to come in. Edward had never realized the purple sheen that illuminated the charcoal black. He began to feel that the birds brought good graces and a sense of purpose, rather than bad omens, as their bright feathers rewrote the cover for which he judged them. 

Meaning in their misunderstood appearance.

It was just as endearing to see the chicks by his bedside every morning, calling for food. He would pet their tiny heads, talk to them, and even tickle their wings. It was exciting how quickly they grew in just a few days. The man could not help the new feeling of responsibility which overtook a nurturing heart.

...However, he was still unsure what happened to their mother. Maybe, the German thought, he was like them. Orphaned, abandoned, torn from home. 

Maybe.

Or maybe he was just kidding himself, and the house was truly haunted. A home for a murder of crows, dead dogs in the backyard, supernatural rivers, and so on. At this point, Edward figured to accept himself as the neighborhood witch. Negative assumptions he referred to as ‘private Richtofen thoughts.’

 

Laying on the couch, the doctor strained at his racing thoughts; eyes closed and an icepack pressed to a burning forehead. Stimuli reverberated into the man’s headspace at max capacity these days. Had there been any further stirring, he would expect some terrible parasite to burrow it’s way xenomorph-style from his pounding temples. 

 

Despite this, to his good fortune, Tank Dempsey’s presence absolved the doctor’s craving for company and a voice besides that of the singing river. It was as though the man blew out the once-glowing lanterns which spun mocking visions, and brought him peace of mind. Edward could let his thoughts wander to a place with no burrowing voids, and consider something else besides memories frozen in the hallowed halls. 

Admirable how his beloved sacrificed exposure to the contagion, only to chase the ghosts away. All it took was a little hug, a stroke through Edward’s messy hair, a gentle grip against his thighs. Voiceless expressions of endearment. 

Only a matter of time, he thought.

To wish for more substantial interactions of the flesh.

Finding something wonderful in this time of weakness.

 

Soon, chopped onions and potato accompanied the broth, as savory aromas peppered the living space. It was mouthwatering enough to make the doctor’s stomach growl imposingly.

“I knew you haven’t been eating,” Dempsey sang lightheartedly from his place in the kitchen, “you can’t fool me.”

“Fine, but it’s not like I haven’t tried. It’s impossible to keep anything down,” Richtofen groaned, eyes still screwed shut.

“Need me to feed you?”

“Please don’t patronize me.”

“Well, this should do the trick anyway,” the Marine laughed as he added chives to the mix, “Nothin’ too heavy, just enough to get something in your stomach.”

Edward peered open an eye, “it certainly smells good.”

“It better. Tak gave me the recipe, he said it’s perfect for this sort of thing.”

Dempsey had spoken to Takeo? Asking for advice? On Richtofen’s behalf? 

...God, had the German not been weighed by a veil of incoherence, who knows what he would be capable of. All he wished was to lay with Tank and let their legs become intertwined just as their fates had. Or at the very least, that the boisterous Marine would just kiss him already. He himself lacked the proper confidence to ever initiate something like that.

The American looked nice today, too. Usually a man for t-shirts and jeans, he wore a simple grey button-up tucked into finely pressed work-pants. How he wondered if Dempsey chose to dress this nice just for him. Far more presentable than the thin white sweatshirt Edward draped over his crooked form. It only accentuated the neglect he had for self-care, especially when it came to remembering that food was a thing. 

Still, the soldier likewise appeared particularly happy this afternoon. He whistled gleefully, hummed with a bright smile, and moved about the kitchen with a sense of enthusiasm for life. One would say he looked better than he had in days. Perhaps, even happier than the time before he learned of Peter’s fate. It was strange, but Edward deeply missed those excited blue eyes.

 

“Hm,” the older man soon voiced his curiosity.

Tank cocked an eyebrow, “hm?”

“You seem a tad different. In a good way.”

“I do?”

“I don’t know. You sound lighter, more content I suppose,” he mused softly, “even refreshed I would say. It’s nice.”

The man poured the light brew of vegetables, and made his way to Edward’s side, “I guess I’ve been feeling better since the funeral. Kind of like my brain thought it was the right place to say ‘the end,’ if that makes sense?”

“So closure?”

“Maybe,” Dempsey shrugged. 

Of course, to Edward’s ignorance, the Marine was not being entirely honest. Tank knew for certain that the funeral did not create closure, but instead, a sense of relief for an eternal hiatus. Though just as rewarding, true closure would involve moving past Peter: both in terms of the abuse he endured and the means of death. Something he understood only after the drunken revelations shared with Nikolai. 

 

...It remained confusing to process this emotional grey area. 

But most importantly, he knew that he was happy here and now.

 

Richtofen cupped the mug into sweating hands and smiled gently, “whatever the case, you’ve been really strong. I admire you,” he soon burned hotter as he clarified in a stutter, “I mean, your strength.”

“No use in holding onto things you can’t change,” Tank rested an arm around the doctor’s shoulder, “besides, it helps to see you holding up too.”

Edward blushed as he sipped, hesitant to mutter, “be careful of staying so close. I might get you sick.”

“I don’t mind.”

 

Dempsey’s touch was warm, but the two were unsure if it was their own embarrassment towards their ongoing experimental affection, or the foreigner’s raging temperature. 

 

The soup was equally comforting, as the therapeutic heat relaxed his aching throat. It was delicious and unique, granting new flavor with each taste.

Richtofen could only beam, “this is wonderful. Thank you, Tank.”

The marine simply squeezed him a little tighter.

 

There was nothing that could pull the soldier from this moment, nothing, except a stirring question:

 

“Why are you holding me?” 

The wind was knocked from Dempsey’s chest. Not only this, but just now did he realize he was kneading circles into the tense muscles of Edward’s shoulder. Tank pulled away with haste.

 

‘Because it feels right.’

‘Because I need to.’

‘Because I’m falling in love.’

 

“I thought it’d make you comfortable. I can lay off if you want.” 

The German soon felt that he may have implied that a line was crossed. 

“No. It’s…nice. It helps. The soreness, I mean.” Another half-lie.

This time, it was harder for the marine to express his intentions, or rather, his desires. 

Therefore, instead of doing so, Dempsey adjusted himself against the arm of the chair, and muttered in the smallest voice possible, “uh, turn around. You can keep drinking your soup, too.”

Sheepishly, Richtofen moved and faced his back to the mechanic. If Tank was planning what the doctor thought he was planning, he was about to lose his damn mind. 

“Like this?” Edward settled.

“A little closer.”

He shuffled back more.

“Closer?”

“Christ, you're insufferable,” Richtofen mumbled as he backed between the marine’s legs, “there.”

It was then that he felt Dempsey’s strong hands squeeze his shoulders in a rolling message.

…Needless to say, the doctor was grateful his back was the only part within view, as he indeed lost all composure. 

In this moment, Edward’s eyes were novelty slinky-eye glasses, comically popping from their gaping lids. His face burned hotter than any temperature he had been running all week. Even his brain practically slammed the ‘eject’ button on his conscious self. 

‘Farewell, body,’ he said to the escaping soul.

Why on earth, Edward thought frantically, would Dempsey assure that he could continue eating. There was no way the taller man could breathe, let alone drink hot soup.

 

“You ok?”

“Yes!” he squeaked.

“It’s alright. I’ll take care of you,” Tank assured softly.

Richtofen inhaled deeply and allowed his cracking pencil spine to ease. 

 

It’s ok, it’s ok.

Trust him.

 

Edward soon felt the mechanic move attention into his shoulder blades. It came as no surprise that a man with such physical strength could give a damn good massage. To which Richtofen eased further into the touch, as intimacy and slow motions lay his pumping heart to rest. 

Dempsey likewise became grateful that he was out of the German’s view. He flushed madly as he kneaded the tight muscle like a cat pawing a mattress. Yes, the younger man knew Edward was the skittish type, but he didn’t know he was this high strung. Gripping the doctor’s muscles was more like gripping a thick hide of some beast. 

How deeply he wished to please his beloved, and by the look of the relaxed form before him, he was successful in doing so. 

Of course, Dempsey would be lying if he didn’t say he really wanted to touch Edward anyway.

 

His heart brightened as the doctor backed even further, now leaning against his chest.

“You’ve been so good to me, Tank,” Richtofen sighed, finally comfortable enough to finish his meal, “You have no idea how much I appreciate it.”

Calling Dempsey by his name somehow made the thanks more personal, and the mechanic chuckled shyly, “hey, it’s no problem.” 

 

A refusal to speak the motivations for selfless efforts.

 

Instead, Tank lowered his arms and wrapped them around the doctor’s waist, pressing his forehead into the crook of Edward’s neck, and resting his hands over the slim stomach. His hot breath against Richtofen’s throat made goosebumps pepper the darkened skin. Those tantalizing lips brushed against his shoulder, restraining themselves from ravaging the tender flesh.

The German giggled this time, made excited, “that tickles.”

Dempsey laughed too, the hum in his chest palpable.

Daisy, still laying in the sun, let her tail thump into a lazy wag.

Edward found happiness. The fever, the home, his past, the river; all was forgotten from the secure hold of Dempsey’s arms. Suddenly, life seemed worth living, and he could only chastise himself for every moment he wished to be no longer. It was wonderful to be another man’s solstice.

The grazing movements of Tank’s caressing lips quickly became little pecks. Richtofen was unsure if this counted as a kiss, but he was just as thrilled. 

Against the shoulder, the back of his neck, behind his ear, into his hair.

 

There was no exchange of words as the marine sighed into these places.

 

With a calculated gesture, Edward leaned his head against Dempsey’s so to glimpse his freckled nose. He almost felt lucky, to be close enough to see the little sun spots which dusted the soldier’s face, something one could only find if sharing proximity this close. 

At last, Richtofen was brave enough to press a soft kiss to Tank’s forehead. 

 

No exchange of words.

 

Dempsey mumbled idly, hearing the small tweeting upstairs, “sounds like your birds are hungry.”

Edward smiled, “don’t let them fool you, they ate less than an hour ago.”

“Sounds’ like me,” the soldier joked.

“Yes, well, at least if you overeat all you have to worry about is a stomach ache.”

“You should tell me when they’re learning to fly. I wanna see.”

“Of course,” the German hummed lightly, “I’m eager to see so myself.”

 

Richtofen made a personal note to write this down so he would never forget it, all while he watched the odd featureless worms crawl through a maze of holes. A bit grotesque, one could admit, yet at least pleasing to see the visions were becoming more contained once again. Here, the tunnels only overtook a small corner in the room; opposed to entire spaces.

“Where do you go?” Tank asked, observing the pensive doctor.

“Excuse me?”

“You do that a lot. ‘Kinda stare off to the side. But it doesn’t look like your thinking, I know what that looks like.”

“...then what does it look like?”

“Like you’re watching something.”

 

And just like that, Richtofen retreated back to his place of fear.

 

“I..I just let my mind wander, that’s all,” he spoke carefully and pulled away.

“Nowhere bad, right?”

“Not necessarily,” Edward tried as he began to shake slightly, “distracting, perhaps.”

Tank noticed this, “I don’t want to push you or anything, just curious is all.”

The doctor, meanwhile, set the mug on the table and hunched over his knees, “I don’t want to ruin our..,” he hesitated. Friendship? The words felt erroneous in view of reality. 

“Our relationship.”

The Marine laughed at this, “I’ve seen you wacked out on cold medicine, slamming into walls, and tossing up your insides. I don’t think anything would push me away now,” he then smirked playfully, “unless that’s what you’re trying to do.”

“As if I would ever want that,” Edward spoke softly as he pondered further.

 

Something within the German wanted to confess his condition. If Dempsey would accept this part of him, he knew he could trust the man with his heart. However, living with the early onset of such disorder, Edward grew to be ashamed of who he was. Children can be so judgemental.

Although normally soft-spoken and jittery, the affliction would make it so Richtofen could snap into anger with ease, or become manic and restless, or even grow paranoid that his dearest wanted to hurt him. All on the turn of a dime, or so it goes. 

Even now, Edward was beginning to return to those isolated and uncomfortable feelings, namely from his time in the self-made quarantine. Scaring Dempsey off for good was the very last thing he needed. 

 

The marine watched Richtofen, worried by expressions that shifted to sadness, to resolve, to anger. Dempsey almost began to think it a mistake to bring the doctor’s wandering mind to attention, but how could one ignore frantic gazes with eyes like those. It was all too noticeable, and he couldn’t bare to let his doctor struggle. 

Then, in an instant, Daisy raised herself, and the soldier’s worry became fear. She knew something was wrong. 

 

“Hey, I’m sorry. You don’t have to say anything you don’t wanna.” Tank squeezed the doctor’s thigh assuringly, “I just wanted to check if you’re alright.”

“I’m not alright,” Edward finally sighed with clenched fists, “I’m not alright at all.” 

He muttered something in German.

“Eddie?”

The man took a deep breath, “sorry I just… I don’t know how to explain.”

Dempsey frowned, “you don’t owe me an explanation for anything.”

“I do owe you, and if not that, I will eventually. You have to know.”

“C’mon, Eddie,-”

The German cut him off, his eyes locked to the American’s, a glint of melancholy resting within aggressive intensity, “I WANT you to know. So I can let myself trust you, because I really want to trust you.”

“Oh,” Tank said simply, flushing red upon hearing the confession.

To trust and be trusted.

 

Dempsey gave Edward time as he spoke with carefully chosen words, pacing around the room as he did so, “I have a certain… affliction. Which came to light when I was very young. My whole life I had to question reality, because I had no way of knowing the truth. Do you understand?”

“...Not at all.”

“Gott,” Richtofen hung his face in his hands, and again lamented in his mother tongue.

“I can’t speak German, doc,” Tank tried to smile, “now I really can’t understand.”

Edward groaned loudly and tugged at his short locks, accent thickened by stress, “gah, pull it together!”

Just a matter of time. But he knew he had to trust Dempsey first.

 

In attempt to make things easier, he turned his back, and instead spoke to the empty television on the wall, “I’m schizoaffective.” 

He looked bitterly to the floor and said more softly, “I can be unpredictable- delusional even. I see things. And... And I just hope you won’t become fearful.”

 

A long moment of silence stilled the room. Not even the crows, his little harbingers of doom, called from upstairs. 

Edward continued to stare at the rug beneath him.

 

“Oh,” the mechanic soon scratched at his neck awkwardly, “so you’re watching hallucinations?”

“Yes.”

“...What do you see?”

“Holes, but this damned house is showing me…. Newer, distressful, horrible things.”

“Oh.” Dempsey said again, he had no idea how to respond, and this terrified Edward.

 

The aforementioned anger began to burn tears into the corners of his eyes. It wasn’t fair. Why was he like this? Why was he a target for the worst the universe had to offer? Why couldn’t he just be happy to love?

Judgement became clouded.

The holes in the wall became some unnecessary backdrop to a boiling meltdown.

And every little thing that ate away at his quaking aspen of a body came to light.

 

Richtofen’s mind darted between aspects that sourced his despair, growing more and more confused. It was like trying to hear lyrics to two songs at once at full volume. Edward had no idea where his train of thought was going, nor where it led.

No matter a life spent denying this, the visions terrified him. 

No matter how well he held himself together, finding fluffy in the backyard broke his heart. 

No matter how happy he was to start over, he missed his home.

His parents, his sister; they would know what to do.

But they were gone.

 

Suddenly, Edward lost sight of what was happening, and then, he didn’t want Tank to be here anymore. He did not deserve his company, he instead deserved the isolation he had sown. He was alone.

 

Tank reached for the doctor’s hand, only for him to pull away forcibly. Richtofen pace out his despair further, as the onset of sudden rambling would answer unspoken questions.

 

“This house, this damned horror show,” the German sneered as he rubbed tears from his face, “it’s more of a living testament to my own futility in letting go of the past. All these old houses are. I despise it.”

Edward continued as he cast his seaglass eyes from Tank’s view, growing angry, “Just as I remain, this estate stands only to dangle happy memories from my fleeting grasp.” 

He again tugged at his hair and screwed his eyes shut, “I just can’t let it go, and I’m becoming more and more afraid.”

“Afraid of what?” Dempsey asked softly.

“Afraid of losing myself! That’s why I returned in the first place, my old home is now a picture frame of another time. It’s too much.” 

“I don’t deserve your company, especially now,” he hissed, “you could blame this on the fever, but you must know that I am always like this.”

“Like what?”

“Confused! Disconnected! Weak!”

“Where is this coming from?” Tank reached out again.

The German looked at the outstretched hand and lightly grazed the fingertips with his own, longing. However, he instead dropped the hand to his side, and sat with Tank once again.

“I’m. I’m so angry. And scared, and I hate myself,” his lip quivered.

The marine did his best to calm Edward down as he stroked his back, “You’re just overwhelmed.”

Richtofen jolted and looked straight into Tank’s eyes.

“I get it. New home, new country, new people, new job… Like damn, you’ve been so tough. Especially since you have those hurdles of yours.”

The piercing gaze soon became glassy, tears threatening to break.

“And those hurdles are a lot, especially when you want to,” he hesitated, “get close to someone.”

 

Hearing Dempsey voice his feelings so easily finally broke him, and the tears fell in great drops onto Edward’s lap. To this, Tank instinctively wrapped his arms into a therapeutic squeeze.

“It’s too much at once, too much,” the older man hugged his friend back, “I didn’t want to scare you, but my nature is closed-captioned in your mind.”

“I wasn’t intending to put you under a microscope. I just care about you, and when I see you acting funky I worry.”

The admittance of feelings went over Edward’s head, caught in his own disorientation.

“I just hate this damned house. The damned river.”

Dempsey was fearful to ask, but curiosity prodded him, “...then why stay?” 

“Because I have nowhere else to go! I’m alone!”

“I thought you said you were adopted, what about them?”

Richtofen lamented, “I can’t, I can’t. It’s all my fault, Dempsey. I’m just so confused. There’s flies in my brain.”

“Hey, don’t say things like that. You’ll be alright.”

“I. Have. No. One.” he enunciated with the greatest anger in his voice.

The doctor then raised himself to pace around the coffee table, “gott, I just,“ he started muttering something in German again.

“Eddie?”

“I said in need to break something!” Edward shouted.

 

“Then break something.”

 

The doctor blinked. That’s right, he was an adult. This was his house and his belongings. He could do anything he pleased.

 

He looked around and grabbed the first thing he saw, an erlenmeyer flask; a triangular beaker which held water of the tormenting river. Richtofen gripped it bitterly in his hand; his friend wouldn’t be able to read the importance of this, but it did not matter. Then, in a swift motion, the German threw it against the wall at full force. 

Both Edward and Dempsey flinched at the shatter, finding sharp indentations marked into the plaster and paint. 

 

It wasn’t enough. 

 

He reached for another beaker and slammed it into the ground this time, crushing it under his boot while tears still flooded in anguish.

It had to stop.

Let go.

Self-loathing.

How tiresome it was.

He couldn’t shake that it was all because of him.

And him alone.

 

Once the beaker was ground into small salt-like crystals, the German slumped back onto the couch and caught his breath.

“...Do you feel better?” Tank asked lowly.

“Yeah,” Richtofen sighed, “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

Dempsey smirked a little, “you have a lot on your mind. It’s good to blow off steam….so now you can feel lighter too.”

The taller man hummed his appreciation, still wistful in his head. Little did he know, Tank was burning with devotion. Edward was not alone, he never was.

 

This was the first time in years he had witnessed a man's anger, an anger that did not lead to his own battering. Shattered glass was all too familiar, but just this once, it felt like it was meant to be.

 

Dempsey gave his friend a moment to breathe before he comforted, “you know, I had an old army buddy like you.”

To this, he blinked incredulously, “really?”

The younger man leaned back with Edward, and held his arm around the sheepish doctor, “his name was John, but we just called him Banana.”

“Tank, Smokey, and Banana? I’m begging to grow curious of where these names come from,” yet he still held serious curiosity, “does he live here?”

“He’s kind of dead now,” the soldier mumbled, “he offed himself.”

Edward frowned.

“It’s alright though, that was years ago,” Tank quickly added, “what I’m really trying to say is I’m not bothered. Schizoaffective or anything. Because I like you.” 

Dempsey then scratched with a smirk, “Hell, I actually took you for autistic instead. No offense.”

The German could only chuckle lightly, “well that too, but not much else.”

Tank was so patient, and so smart. He loved everything about him. The soldier truly was perfect in every sense of the word. Edward knew that after today, he would not let him go.

 

Dempsey pressed a kiss to his forehead, a return for the earlier gesture, “We all have some baggage one way or another. If you can’t accept a human for being human, you won’t get very far.”

“I don’t know where I’d be without you, Tank.”

 

The marine lay down across the couch with a smile, and saved a space for his beloved in the crook of his arm. Reading the air, Richtofen settled between Dempsey and the couch. The man was warm, but so was he. With little room to fit his arms, the German instead wrapped them around Tank. As he did so, the two accidentally locked eyes, and laughed awkwardly in embarrassment.

Richtofen closed his eyes, feeling gentle fingers press through his hair and roll circles with the little cowlicks. In return, he pressed his face further into Dempsey’s chest.

The sound of the mechanic’s steady heartbeat became his lullaby, stomach a blanket, muscled arms a pillow, and he dozed off. 

 

\--------

 

Richtofen awoke to a sneeze that shook space he had dug out within the soldier’s arms. Looking up, he found Tank on his phone.

Dempsey smiled as he passed his fingers through the German’s hair, “sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“It’s quite alright, I should be going to sleep anyway, ” Edward flushed, “thank you for staying with me. I apologize for... this,” and gestured absentmindedly to the mess of glass on the floor.

“It’s nothin’, I promise,” Tank spoke as the two stood, the man holding himself in close proximity to Richtofen’s chest.

The older man laughed nervously, “contagious, remember?”

To this, he only took Edward’s hands into his own, “I don’t mind, remember?”

Things were getting confusing again, but in a good way, “you’ll regret it, you know.”

 

Finally, Dempsey stood on his tippy-toes so his face was right before Richtofen’s.

“I don’t think I will,” he smiled anxiously, and slowly pressed his lips to Edward’s.

 

Chaste, fragile, experimental. 

 

He held himself there as he let his eyes flutter shut. 

Edward, meanwhile, froze still. Head emptied. 

 

The doctor had to dig his nails into his palms, testing to see if this was truly happening. To his surprise, the hot blood which beaded from sharp impressions validated this. He was kissing Tank Dempsey.

With this, Richtofen seized the opportunity to kiss back. Cautiously placing his hands on the Marine’s waist, he pressed himself softly. His borealis eyes closed so to become lost in the feeling of Dempsey’s devotion; a strong grasp that held his own trembling hands, the sound of two breaths walking. Soft lips, stilled forms, desire to become closer and closer.

 

After some time, Dempsey pulled away, a well placed thumb holding Edward’s chin.

 

‘Once more for posterity,’ the two seemed to think, and they kissed again. This time, with a little more confidence. Tank draped his arms over the doctor’s shoulders, while Richtofen pulled the soldier’s waist closer. Accommodation for the dramatic height difference. 

 

No longer would love come in a matter of time, it was only left to a matter of timing.

 

Dempsey moved his hands to grasp the doctor’s locks possessively, as the other pressed in more and ran his careful digits up the strong back. A mutual confession from weeks and months of ceaseless flirting. By the time the two pulled away, their warm breaths were caught between awkward looks.

 

“Uh. Thanks for trusting me, Eddie,” Dempsey tried as he pulled away with great hesitation.

 

Edward said nothing as the man called for Daisy to follow.

As Tank waved a timid goodbye.

As the two made their way home.

 

What would the doctor see in his spinning lantern? Only something as important as this could make the cut. 

 

Yet even so, the rock in his boot remained.

 

The church bell tolled,

in empty spaces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I learned a cool expression in Japanese, "soumatou." It's referring to those paper lanterns you cut shapes into, and as the lantern spins it looks like the figures are moving. It's basically a way of saying "your life flashing before your eyes," but it's all happy memories since lanterns are often a symbol of happiness :^)
> 
> I am gay. More awkward 'just friends,' smooching to come.
> 
> Also thank you so much for all your comments, they're my sole motivation ;;
> 
> Happy 'Tanks'giving!


	17. Family Portrait III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Exciting, scary, and just because!

It was the cusp of the early 2000’s when Edward found himself in the frustrating world of hormonal teenagers. 

When the boy wasn’t being bullied for his strict attention to academics and lack of male bravado; he was tripping over his own attempts to navigate himself socially. Eddie had mellowed his personality over the years, a stark difference from the temperamental boy he once was. However, this instead lead him to grow timid and lacking in terms of expressing himself. Even the teen’s lanky posture and cracking voice served only to make his mere presence increasingly awkward. 

 

Still, the biggest source of underlying pressure came from his family. All they had was a well-meaning wish that he’d make friends, or even more so, find a girlfriend. Edward’s failure to do so only made him think himself a disappointment. 

As a matter of fact, while other boys his age were defined by their attraction to the ‘kinder sex,’ Edward felt indifferent. 

 

Girls were sweet and all, but he held no interest in pursuing them. Though he attempted to coerce the attraction with offhanded comments about nice outfits and pretty faces, it only felt forced. This instead led Eddie to feel broken. Deepest fears of a life of solitude, without meaning within another person, tempted reality. All he could do was pray that attraction would snap into place someday. Maybe he was just a late bloomer.

Edward desperately needed someone to tell him things would be alright, and it was just as natural to need time for these sorts of feelings.

 

...Evidently, the downside of holding a fear so close is that no one was mindful of the need. 

 

The boy was at least grateful for the love of his family. 

He and Sam did everything together, in fact, very often were they confused for twins. Though they outgrew the need for play, little traditions like movie marathons and taking Fluffy out for walks carried on. Often times they would sit in each other's room quietly, just to spend time together. Either this, or they’d be gossiping. Edward always felt grateful that his sister trusted him enough to share intimate details about her life or college plans; yet guilty he seldom returned the honesty.

As for his mother, Sophia would sometimes bring him on conference trips. It was a fun way to get around her schedule and become a part of each other's lives. Most of these trips entailed midnight runs for dinner, side tracking to tourist spots, or simply bringing Edward to witness the newest medical technology where she worked. 

Maxis likewise encouraged this love for science, as he made Richtofen his apprentice. Though they often goofed around, and there were certain things Eddie was legally not allowed to do, (yet performed anyway,) they managed to make progress...Naturally, Sophia has already rushed into the garage with a fire extinguisher on several occasions.

 

However, there comes a time in most teen’s life where the type of love they crave is not familial. He wanted romantic love.

 

Eddie contemplated this as he sat at the kitchen table, working on a school essay. From here, he heard Samantha and her friends laughing upstairs. They were supposed to be studying, but from the sound of things, the three were lost in chatter. 

He didn’t mind this of course, but even so, the laughter ceased as his sister made her way downstairs.

“Hey Teddy, you want some juice too?” Samantha asked as she threw open the fridge.

“No thanks,” the boy kept his attention to the books strewn about.

 

These days, Sam kept her hair much shorter, yet long enough to tie into a messy pony-tail of ashy brown hair. Her fashion had likewise changed over the years. Though his sister only cared for dresses and skirts in her youth, she became more experimental. Samantha would try overalls and jeans, vintage t-shirts of her favorite films, bright and mismatched socks. Edward wished he could learn to try something new, something outside of his mundane fashion picked simply as to not stand out. However, he was not nearly as adventurous as her. In the end, that was just the kind of person she was; daring, adventurous, curious, and someone he always looked up to.

 

Samantha spoke mischievously as she poured, “Do you want to hear a secret? You can’t tell Abby I told you.”

Edward tilted his head inquisitively.

“You have to swear!” She slammed the jug down.

“Like, the F word?” He stuttered.

“No! I mean promise!”

“I promise!” 

“Wellll, Abby has a huge crush on you!” she snickered playfully.

“Oh.” 

“Huh? That’s it? All the guys at school are crazy about her,” she blinked.

Eddie became defensive, “how am I supposed to react?”

“I don’t know! You spend a lot of time at her place, I thought you’d be excited.”

“Why do you care if I’m excited?”

“Why are you mad? You should be happy someone likes you!” Sam protested, a slight sting in her voice.

“Well, I’m not!”

“Why?!”

 

Edward became tight-lipped. He hated fighting with his sister, he hated how often the same petty argument played out. He only blamed himself. 

 

Instead, the boy waved her off with a sigh, “just go back to your friends. Sorry.”

Samantha, still upset, carried off the tray of drinks with a huff.

 

In all honesty, Edward liked Abby, but not the same way she liked him. 

Part of him considered it a mistake to give private tutoring at her house, but it gave the German an opportunity to catch up with her brother. Though they had no similar interests, Eddie always thought he was cool. He was laid back and funny, yet tough and protective. Everyone at school seemed to love him, so they sometimes left Edward alone on their friend’s behalf. 

He was also on the swim team, and often worked on a rowing machine in the living room. The swimmer was impressively strong. Maybe, Edward pondered, he would like to see him at the next competition. 

Naturally, he was quick to decide against this. It may give Sam’s friend the wrong idea. 

How he wished there was a girl as fascinating as Abby’s brother.

 

Just then, Edward uttered a pathetic, “ _oh._ ”

 

It was other boys that attracted him. 

 

Physique alone was enough to send shivers down his spine, something he initially thought was jealousy. In fact, Gym was a troublesome class because of this, as he frequently opted to changing within the solitude of the bathroom stalls. The discomfort of baring himself in front of his male classmates was too much for Edward to handle.   
Not only this, but he would look at the other boys and wonder if they knew how to kiss yet, or wondered how they learned. He would even appreciate the nicely fitting ties and dress shirts some of them would wear, and became particularly bashful when these same classmates talked to him.

 

It wasn’t about wanting to be them, it was wanting to be with them. 

 

Everything suddenly made sense.

 

...Even so, this only brought more trouble. Edward had no idea how to speak this revelation, or if he even needed to do so. He wasn’t even certain that he was certain. Eddie had never met another boy like himself, nor had his family mentioned relatives or friends that shared this experience. Hell, he wasn’t sure if his family would accept him in the first place. 

Everything Edward had heard regarding people like him, was that he was destined to die of HIV or AIDS. His father often talked about these patients, and how dangerous it was to treat them. Remnants of the Reagan era. 

He confessed himself lost and afraid for his future.

 

Slamming his books shut, Edward resolved to hide in his room after another hour of connecting dots. All he wanted to do was sleep off these complicated feelings. 

As he climbed up the stairs, Samantha and her friends passed him down. The German nodded a shy hello to the three, while Abby seemed to hesitate and hold her glance a little longer. He only blushed and continued on his way. 

 

Now in his room, he collapsed face-first onto his untidied bed and sighed into the mattress. The teen’s mind was buzzing with scenarios and thoughts and doubts and fears. However, it wasn’t all doom and gloom; there was some excitement in figuring out his romantic inclinations. He even became brave enough to experiment with daydreams of being held, perhaps even kissed, by another boy, which was both confusing and exhilarating. So much so, that he didn’t hear the knock on his door as his sister entered the room.

“Teddy, I really think we should talk.” She frowned.

Edward pushed himself up and sat criss-cross within the tangled comforter. “About what?” He wondered curiously, not an inch of suspicion in his voice.

She sat at his bedside, “I dunno, we’ve always been so close and now all you do is get mad when I ask about you.”

“I just want privacy.”

Samantha didn’t look convinced, “C’mon. You’re my little brother. You can talk to me and you know it.”

There was a familiar moment of silence as she granted Eddie time to build a sentence. He was unsure of how he would go about his confession. Edward did not want to ruin the only good relationship he had, besides that which he shared with his parents. 

Choosing between being honest versus lying could make or break the closeness of the siblings, and either course of action presented the same fate. Potentially, at least.

 

“I guess I’ve been confused.” Eddie finally spoke, a sigh in his tone.

“About what?”

“About Me. About what I want.”

“You’re still young, Teddy. You don’t have to know that right now,” she smirked a little.

“The thing is I do know. It’s just scary, I guess.”

“Then what’s scaring you?”

Edward held his silence, the words dancing on the tip of his tongue. The only sounds in the room being the clicking of his millipedes, which rested in their nearby tank, and a light turning of overhead mobiles that carried his dreamy thoughts. 

“...Eddie.”

The fear soon became corporeal, as tremors shook his hands and tears threaten to break. A scandalous secret held by the chipping damn that would flood into the unsuspecting valley of Sam’s life. Though these would not be tears of despair, but instead tears which spoke anxiety, and joy, and fear, and disappointment. 

“You haven’t been hurting yourself again have you? I told you those creeps aren’t worth-”

“It’s not that,” Richtofen breathed, “I. I think I like boys.”

Samantha came to a state of shock and her breath stilled. She was completely blindsided.

“You...think?” she asked lowly.

“I. I’m not sure,” her brother’s lips quivered, blinking the tears his mismatched eyes.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he uttered as he buried his face into the comforter.

Sam warily put her hand on his shoulder, “...Why are you sorry?”

“Because I’m going to get sick! And I’ll never get married! And it’s perverted! And everyone at school already thinks I’m delusional! And mom-”

Edward went on and on about his fears, but was soon silenced when he felt his sister wrap her arms around him.

“Eddie, you don’t owe any apologies for something like that.”

He hugged her back, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry..” he kept mumbling into her shoulder.

“Just please, I don’t want to fight anymore. I don’t care who you like.”

“...You’re not disappointed?” Edward said, still in her arms.

“I mean, it sucks you can’t get married. That’s not really a ‘you’ problem though. I just want you to be happy.”

Finally, he pulled away, “...You’re not mad either?”

“No way,” she smiled, “besides, that means we can talk about boys together!”

He shoved her away playfully, yet still sniffling, “You’re embarrassing!”

As per usual, Samantha added mischievously, “And now I can ask about that creepy magazine stash you have-”

Mortified, Edward screamed, “HOW DO YOU KNOW ABOUT THAT.”

 

There were many questions: when did you know? How are you sure? How does this happen? And although most of these were left to vaugities and unclear resolve, it still appeared to make sense. After all, some of the most marvelous things in the universe are defined to happen just for the sake of happening. Like the genesis of the stars, or the creation of life. The most precious things, only existing because they could.

This confession soon made Sam wonder aloud, that maybe her feelings towards female friends were more than platonic as well. Her relationship with Amelia was particularly close, yet, she was still confused because she found boys just as drawing. Whatever the case, she was protective of her little brother’s happiness, and made a promise to help him come out to their parents when he was ready.

 

And Edward was pleased to learn that being different did not mean the same thing as being broken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eddie always liked the sporty types, huh? >:^)  
> Just wanted a lighter chapter, just some fun.
> 
> Couldn't help trashing Ronald Reagan. AIDS used to be called GRID in the 80's (Gay-related immune disorder,) and therefore he refused to take steps for prevention/cures/awareness. He is literally responsible for millions of deaths because it was "a gay problem," and he only cared when straight people/newborns were getting it :^)))))


	18. Pink and Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meeting new friends, and learning about the old ones. Time for Richtofen to branch out!

When Edward woke up, he swore that he had been reborn. His muscles did not ache, his sinuses clear, his vision unspun. Funny how one starts to appreciates walking without toppling over, or breathing through one’s nose, after a long time deprived of these basic functions. 

 

In fact, at this moment, the German was practically euphoric. It could have been the cough syrup disorientating his sense of coherence, or the burst of energy after days of fatigue, but it was more so sharing mutual healing with Dempsey. Though Edward still considered the significance of their growing relationship, he was still unsure if they were ‘official.’ There was no exchange of thoughts on the matter, too. Even more confusing, when small pecks and gentle touches peppered themselves within their conversations.

 

“Are you sure you’re alright?” The doctor asked from the balcony of his home, resting his hand protectively over Tank’s.

Here, the air was cool and the ceiling fan above spun a lazy breeze. Cries of waking cicada’s were becoming more and more quiet these days, likely reaching the end of their life. 

This was alright though, because it meant fall would be here soon. Edward was grateful. He hated the summer hear. He hated mosquitos and sweat making his shirt stick to his skin. Gross.

“I promise,” Dempsey soon responded brightly, “as weird as it sounds, I think I feel freed. Like I can do anything.”

Richtofen cocked an eyebrow, slightly confused by the strong sentiment.

“I know, I know. I probably sound real cruel,” Tank continued to smile, “but you know. It’s nice to not have to worry all the time. I can think about more important... things.”

Though this vague statement was genuine, it was apparent that pride shifted from refusal to see the problem, to refusal that the problem ever happened. How pathetic the mechanic would feel, had Richtofen’s impression been, ‘wow. This guy was so desperate to be loved that he wasted years on a man that hurt him.’ 

Even so, simply being around friends that made him feel important was enough to ease his thoughts. Perhaps Doctor Monty was right, the Marine needed to stop overthinking and accept that grey areas are natural.

 

Edward squeezed Tank’s hand, “well, I’m just glad to see you happy again.”

“I can say the same, you look…” he hesitated to say ‘beautiful’, or ‘handsome’, or something else unabashedly romantic. “You look good, Eddie.”

“..It was probably all that soup.”

“Probably.”

 

Dempsey began to rub circles into the back of the doctor’s palm with his thumb, all while he hummed an unfamiliar tune. At least, it was different from all his other little songs of the heart. 

Edward could only close his eyes and meditate on the rolling lullaby.

 

More empty spaces.

 

“This is ok, right?” The marine wondered aloud.

“Huh?”

“Holding your hand. I ain’t making things awkward?”

“No, no. I think I quite like it.”

“...me too.”

 

Empty spaces, empty spaces.

 

Of course, no good thing lasts forever, and the Marine’s phone buzzed a reminder for work. 

Daisy, who had been napping at the foot of her master’s chair, lazily pricked her ears and stood. Even stretching out a silent yawn, one which the German copied.

“Hey, I’ll see you later.” Dempsey winked.

“Take care of yourself,” Richtofen returned, and leaned to press a kiss to the mechanic’s forehead.

He laughed at this, “thanks, doc.”

Flirtations that stood: an elephant in the room.

 

Regardless of the wordless declarations of love, today Edward had plans to celebrate his recent wellness. Simple errands and nothing more; hoping that getting out of the haunted home would be reinvigorating. The ghosts of Richtofen’s past were starting to diffuse from the environment and into his brain, searching for a place to fester. Drastically so, that he nearly began to worry that the weeks spent ill would drive him to some sort of cabin-fever. Not a good look: considering he was beginning to scare his neighbors with episodes of his fever-induced psychosis. 

God knows he wished that they would soon forget seeing his twisted form crammed underneath his car, thinking some animal had emerged from the woods to prowl around the garden; or episodes of catatonia as he blankly lay under the great Banyan upon softened weeds in his backyard. 

Besides, the entire community had already been on high alert, unsure who among them was killing their closest friends. Hitting every checkbox that read, ‘Really Damn Unstable,’ did little to ease suspicion. 

 

Even so, the doctor thought it best to drive into town despite the short distance. He did not want to tempt fate, particularly since taking in the omens he found in 8 tiny harbingers of death. Of course, he could not scorn the young crows, as they turned expiry to an endearing form. Their plum colored feathers only seemed to sprout by the day, making the silhouette of their presence into something more conventionally lovable. 

Richtofen thought it funny how he was starting to resemble Nikolai Belinski, although unsure if this animal husbandry was altruism or plain boredom. Perhaps, he considered, a sense of responsibility?; something he and Dempsey had been bonding over in their little visits.

 

With the presence of solitude and the afternoon sun peaking in the sky, Edward made the trip west.

 

\------

 

This time of year, downtown was particularly alluring. The clouds shielded the bustling city and granted gentle illumination off storefront windows, almost artful in the flecks of light that shown on passer-bys. The road sounded a mumbling ambiance of idle chatter and distant Bluegrass melodies. The German was thankful that the street had been closed off from traffic, as he did not have to fear becoming some stringy piece of roadkill. 

Not an irrational fear, given the man’s darting attention span. 

Antique light posts followed the winding path, some enveloped by fliers pasted in withering layers, some bearing an American flag for the coming holiday. Edward could only vaguely recall the celebration as a child. 

Waving sparklers and sharing ice cream with his sister. 

Parades and firework shows. 

This sort of thing sounded right up Dempsey’s alley, but a trip to the beach sounded far more intimate, and less so an assault on one’s senses.

 

As Edward walked, he found himself lost in the variety of local flair. There was some unique unnamable aesthetic of the community; an art focus reflective of the midwest, music from the south, restaurants with dishes ranging across state borders, and a cacophony of personalities that spanned nations. 

Modern in how welcoming things appeared, yet intimidating in the faces of unsavory strangers.

Upsetting in the remnants of confederate memorabilia, yet homey in a southern-hospitality sort of way. 

The man flicked his knife from inside his pocket to keep his fidgeting hands busy. As he usually would.

 

Richtofen stepped lightly, sandbar eyes shifting from place to place and unsure of where to go. Among the numerous folk art shops offering pieces from local creatives, it was hard for a window shopper to figure what they were looking for. However, this was quickly resolved as he wandered into a quaint little market that read ‘Icarus Leadlight’ on the signpost. From the embellishments on the name and gleaming mosaiques on display, it was a glassware store.

 

A small bell chimed as he entered into the surprisingly dim storefront. There were vases and bowls shining brilliant colors that swirled, small sculptures and engraved tableware, even stain glass windows that bore paintings within the fractals of color. A theme carried in the stories frozen in crystal, woeful pining to find peace within the carving of doves; stories about sin and virtue, but not the typical ‘fire and brimstone’ narration. Something more about unconditional love.

Still, there was no one else among the clutter. This was luck on Edward’s behalf. He always grew nervous when employees tried to talk to him. Almost as if simply existing there was an inconvenience to their hard work. Here, he could browse with more ease.

However, the doctor spoke too soon, finding a man crouched on the floor and stocking some shelves. The stranger resembled a vagabond in his matter of dress; loose fitting clothes, fingerless gloves, and a distinct cap shading a thin head of hair. Probably the artist, Edward rightfully assumed. 

The man looked up timidly, and asked in a scratchy Italian-American cadence, “oh, hey. Need help with something?”

“I’m just looking, thank you,” Richtofen said before he noticed the array of glass boxes he held.

“Actually, may I see one of those?”

“Yeah, just know that no two are alike,” he smiled softly and handed Edward the fragile piece.

The doctor turned it over in his hands, observing the opaque and brilliant stain-glass patterns. Imagery of a lightning storm in a starry sky, striking jagged lines around it’s form. The way the dim light cast through the work of art made the floor beneath become a flickering ocean. 

“Do you make these yourself?” 

“Yeah,” he hummed modestly, “it may not be the best, but it’s the best that I can do.”

“You must have been doing this for a long time. It’s beautiful.”

“Not really,” he continued to stock the shelves, “I used to draw, but I gave sculpture a shot somes years ago. ‘Figured this was more my speed. A better way to avoid starving.”

“What made you try?”

“Glass is such an interesting element. When cut by opaque designs it’s art, when transparent we find safety in window panes, when it reflects we feel shame in mirrored selves. Probably the most humane way to reach a person.”

“Well, I suppose deepest feelings are the truer thoughts of people,” the doctor spoke as the artist stood to meet him.

 

Now at eye level with the man, the two could only blink incredulously. 

“Oh!” They exclaimed at the same time, then laughed at their coordination.

“I’ve never met someone else with heterochromia,” Edward smiled, “now I see why people always comment on it.”

“Same here,” the stranger chuckled, “ain’t it annoying?”

“Gott, yes. I swear some make the silliest assumptions.”

“One time someone asked if I was blind.”

“Really? Once I was asked if I lost a contact!”

The two laughed again.

 

Now more comfortable, the stranger leaned, “you know, I don’t think I’ve seen you before. You new here? Or just visiting?”

“Kind of new I suppose. I moved in a few months ago.”

“Guess I wouldn’t know anyway. I’m mostly out in the woods. Best place to work without bothering no one.”

The doctor outstretched his hand, “well, I’m Edward Richtofen.”

“Albert Arlington,” he shook the palm enthusiastically, “just Al is fine though.”

“Of course, Al. I think I’d like to buy this box if you don’t mind wrapping it.”

Albert gestured for the German to follow him, “no prob. Is it a gift or for yourself?”

“Uh, myself,” Edward half-lied, unwilling to share intentions to make it his dead dog’s urn, “just an art appreciator. A fellow artist even.”

“What kinda work do you do?” Albert perked up in interest.

“Just drawing and painting,” and the doctor paused.

Before Edward could continue, an intricate and pale design against the wall caught his eye. It was different from all the other works, in that the stained glass mosaique used dull and muddied colors, and incomprehensible spirals of blue and grey. It was far more abstract, compared the the readable intentions of the other pieces. The sole identifiable feature was, what looked like, streaks of windy patterns.

“The piece behind you is very striking,” the German examined more closely.

Albert looked and leaned against the counter, a tinge of melancholy in his voice, “yeah, it’s about the landslide that happened some years ago.”

“I’ve heard about that,” Richtofen muttered, still bitter that it created a bad reputation to precede his arrival.

“A real mess, lots of people died. Most of the bodies are still buried there too.”

“Did you lose anyone?” he asked, now guilty that his bitterness seemed petty by comparison.

“Only my house,” he assured, “I just thought it was interesting how tragedy brought people together. They gave food, helped search the rubble, those sort of things. Hell, they even offered me a place to stay,” he turned back to face the doctor with a cheeky grin, “before then they took me as a shady fella for doin’ time. I wanted to remember that change of heart. It meant a lot.”

“It’s hard for me to picture you breaking the law,” Richtofen chuckled.

“You’d be surprised!” Al smirked before going on, “still, I’m grateful for my second chance. Some people had it way worse, one guy lost his entire family. Gone, just in a flash.”

“I’m glad nothing happened to you, then we wouldn’t have met,” the German spoke thoughtfully, and added with an annoyed sigh, “Believe me, I’ve had the hardest time finding friendly faces.”

“That’s awful nice of ya,” Albert passed the doctor a receipt, “feel free to stop by again. Maybe we can draw together too, I think I’d like to know you better.”

“That sounds wonderful, thank you, Al.” 

“No prob, Edward”

Richtofen nodded a friendly goodbye, the ringing bell announcing his exit.

 

Oh how stereotypes get shot down in an instant. Richtofen always took Italian-Americans for aggressive and loud types, but Albert was soft spoken and eloquent in his poetry. So much so, that Edward thought with certainty he would take the man up on visiting again soon.

He couldn’t help but wonder what a timid guy like the artist could do to earn jail time. However, the doctor was never one to judge a person’s record. Even Edward had patients die on him, but that didn’t make him some vengeful and unemotional creature. The stereotype of a strict and bossy German manifested into a squirrely and melancholy man. Perhaps this was why Al was so receptive to pleasantries.

 

Continuing on his way, the midday heat was starting to cast the uncomfortable, yet recognizable, heat. Likewise, bells of clock towers tolled to signify the time. It was frankly unsettling how the uncoordinated timers were set, as the ringing echoed one another from far-off places. Here, Edward followed the small holes that dug their way into the brick path.

Richtofen was now on the hunt for art supplies; his encounter with the glassblower instilling further motivation to draw again. To his luck, he was quick to find a multi-level Appalachian arts store. It was colorfully decorated with wood carvings of giraffes, metal structures, and a mix of other gaudy pieces that did not suit one another. However, the oil paints and sketchbooks in the window called out to him.

 

The doctor walked in on two employees in heated debate:

“I’m tellin’ ya, the mountains are getting bluer,” the older man raised.

His companion, a black man with a Southern accent, could only dead-pan, “they’re called the blue ridge mountains for a reason, Stu.”

“So they don’t make people question it! No other place in the U.S. has mountains that do that!”

“Then what in god’s name are they hiding?”

“Chemicals! They’re pumping them into the atmosphere so we become a compliant workforce.”

The larger man frowned, “Oh c’mon. No one can afford retirement these days.”

“See? Compliant! They’ve already got you hooked.”

Richtofen, who had been eavesdropping, quietly chirped, “It’s Isoprene. It makes the mountains blue, that is.”

The two turned their heads to the source of the small voice as it went on, “trees release it to combat heat stress and dramatic temperature changes. Since climate change is warming the region, trees have to produce more.”

“...”

“Especially to protect themselves at higher elevation. The atmosphere there is far colder than at sea level.”

Russman gave his friend a smug look, and the older man questioned Edward’s intrusion with squinting eyes, ”did you need something?”

The doctor nearly yelped, “Ah, Do you sell moleskine sketchbooks?”

“...back wall.”

As Richtofen moved, he heard the two go at it again.

“See, Stu? It’s natural.”

“It’s still a chemical!”

 

The shelf was lined with many handbound journals, all of leathery covers and designs burned into skin. Most featured birds, but a few held imagery of great oaks and white cedar. Here, Edward was more inclined to peruse the array of avian tributes. Cardinals, blue jays, finches, but no crows. Surprising, given how common they were. He would have liked a little something for his new found appreciation of omens in disguise. 

Instead, Richtofen found an auburn notebook with a grey heron wading in the reeds. Although he was far from a historian, the German still had mild recollection of the Egyptian deity, Bennu. Also known as: ‘he who came into being by himself.’ 

The god was said to have flown over a primordial abyss of water, present before all creation. Once the heron found a place to land, the triumphant call it sounded would outline genesis itself, and corporeal existence was born. 

Not to mention, the god was somewhat of a phoenix in its ability to become rebirthed by the sun. The embodied soul of Ra himself.

 

In other words, Bennu was representative of life and rebirth, and Edward could not resist. Perhaps it was the idea of sailing an abyss of primeval waters, or maybe renewing oneself through false death, but the German was always one to appreciate meaning from inconspicuous places. A means of self-expression that he could wear on his shoulder, and none would be the wiser.

 

As Richtofen returned to the front counter, and found Misty Briarton chatting with the two men from earlier.

“Hello, Misty,” he waved shyly.

“Eddie!” She called excitedly, “wherev’ you been? You haven’t stopped by the garage in ages.”

“I would hate to get you sick.”

“If I get to see Dempsey embarrass himself, it’s totally worth it.”

“You know this guy?” the older man at the counter frowned.

“Yeah! He’s the one I was telling you about. Dempsey’s little boyfriend.”

Edward flushed a deep red and mumbled lowly, “we’re not dating…”

“Not yet. I swear I have to leave the room to catch a break from those looks you throw each other.”

She soon switched and gestured to the two men before her, “but these are my pals Russman and Stuhlinger. Russ owns the place, Stu is absolutely useless.”

“Watch it, farm girl,” the man hissed.

Richtofen still nodded a timid greeting while his friend continued, “I was seeing if they’re too busy for dinner.”

“Not busy, just stuck here with no one to watch the place,” Russman shrugged, “slow day.”

“How about you, Eddie? I can finally introduce you to my girlfriend.”

There was a twinkle of excitement in the German’s eye, flattered that Dempsey was not the only factor that bound their relationship. However, it was far too early for dinner. He hadn’t even had lunch yet. Perhaps, thought he, this was normal for Americans?

Richtofen soon looked out the window and tried to guage the time from the sunlight. It was then that his heart skipped a beat, as the hour was already well into dusk. Questions streamed through his head like an electronic LED sign, streaming messages of silver alerts and dui warnings on the highway. Edward did his best to mask the confusion; did he pass out? Lose time? Dissociate? Or was this simply a matter of a quickly setting sun of the coming season? One could fear precisely how long he spent dreaming of Herons. Yikes.

Whatever the case, he couldn’t say no to Misty’s kind offer.

 

———-

 

It was a short walk when the two reached the spacious and warm tones of an old pub called, ‘the Ruby Rabbit.’ There was already a light crowd of strangers young and old having fun as most drinkers would. Richtofen was slightly relieved to see it wasn’t a noisy and bustling sports bar, or a dark of stuffy nightclub. He would have had to turn away.

He was never one for social drinking, but here and now, he felt ok.

 

“Kinda weird, we never hang out just the two of us,” Misty adjusted the baseball cap that held back her tied hair nonchalantly.

The German nodded an agreement, again fiddling with his knife as they sat at the bar, “I’m excited to meet Jessica though.”

“You’ll love her! She’s the best,” the woman sighed happily, “more class than anyone in a 30 mile radius.”

“How long have you two been together?”

“A few years, but I think I wanna marry her someday.”

Edward became excited, “Really? When?”

“I dunno yet!” she laughed, “I just feel like she’s the one, you know? Smart, beautiful, tough, real thoughtful. I’m thinkin’ we could move out west so I can get my farm and she can go be in the movies.”

“I’m glad you’ve found each other,” the doctor smiled brightly as he joined her at the counter. If there were anything he could value more, it was pure and innocent romance. A wonderful bond of personalities that complemented the other. 

“Funny though, that’s also what Tank likes about you,” she added before turning to a bartender and ordering something.

Richtofen blushed, “I see,” was all he could muster. He distractedly asked for whatever Misty was drinking tonight.

“I’m real grateful for what you’ve been doing for him though. I knew you were good.”

“I’m not doing anything out of the ordinary,” Edward scratched.

“I dunno, ever since he broke up with Peter he’s been lonely. It’s good to see him with a boyfriend that treats him right.”

“We’re not-,” Edward paused, squinting and turning his brows, “he and Peter were partners?”

“God damnit,” she face-palmed, “I wasn’t supposed to say that.”

“Why not?”

“Tank said not to. It’s complicated stuff.” 

The bar tender returned quickly with their drinks and soon slipped away.

“Well. I mean. It seems pretty clear to me,” Richtofen hummed awkwardly, “why did they break up?”

“It was a long time comin’, Peter was the worst. He’d treat him like garbage... I guess Dempsey wouldn’t want you to see him like that,” the mechanic frowned.

“...I know he drank a lot.”

“That only made things worse. He’d bruise Dempsey up real bad. Smack him around and stuff. He got pissed at the world- wanted to make people understand him, but he did it in the worst way.”

Edward blinked, it was near impossible to imagine someone as proud as Tank get knocked down. A small flame of anger lit his body, had Peter not been dead, he would have killed him himself. However, he caught himself before he delved deeper into a fantasy of avenging his friend. Tank was happy now. This is what the Marine meant when he said he felt freed.

Finally, Richtofen wondered, “why would he stay with someone like that?”

“I don’t really know. I haven’t had something like that happen to me, so I don’t think I can pretend to understand,” she shrugged, “he’d always come to me, all calm-like, and just wish Peter would die. Like that was the only way they could separate for good. Careful what you wish for, I guess.”

“...The more I learn about this Peter, the more I grow to dislike him.” Edward frowned, taking a sip of his drink. God was it disgusting. It was probably whisky, but the taste reminded him of the apothecary smells of his upper floor when he first moved in. He wouldn’t be finishing the rest.

However, as he stepped back mentally, fear consumed him. Oh dear, oh dear. Was he going to be another Peter to his beloved? Dempsey’s passion for sympathy and responsibility would be his downfall. He knew this, but he himself also knew he was not well. A poor combination, as Edward did not want Tank to put his own happiness at risk. Especially if it meant he’d have to wait out dissociation episodes, watch the endless crying spells that woke him in the night, and worst of all, feel like he had to fix Richtofen himself. The mechanic of people. Oh dear, oh dear. The German could not do this to someone he loved so dearly.

 

Just then, a short blonde turned a corner, and Misty lit up like the very stars.

“Jessica!” She waved.

As the woman approached, she gave the mechanic a peck on the cheek before sitting by her side. She was elegant, both in dress and the way she carried herself. Misty was certainly right, as she was far more classy than the other employees. The woman likewise had intense blue eyes that had shown like ice. It pierced straight through Edward, and he could hardly hold eye-contact. Though he knew he was being watched, because that’s how socializing works, he felt more like he was being watch-watched. Like she was spying on his internal mechanisms of thought. Like she was reading the manuscript he wrote of his first impressions. In all honesty, Edward was reminded of his mother. He hoped that this wasn’t creepy.

“Jessica, this is Edward,”

The waitress gave Richtofen another odd look, this time as if worried for some reason, and shook his hand. The man wiped his face, was something stuck in his mustache? Something on his shirt? No, he was just giving off odd vibes.

“Nice to finally meet you,” the doctor smiled through the anxiety.

She nodded her acknowledgement, “sorry I’m late, I was talking to Jackie. He was wondering if I’ve seen anything strange lately.”

Misty quickly filled the doctor in, “Jackie’s a detective, he’s in charge of that corpse business, but he and Jess go way back.”

The waitress continued, “yeah, there wasn’t much to say though. It’s hard to tell what’s ‘odd’ in a place like this.”

“Did he tell you anything to look out for?”

“Nothing the news hasn’t said.”

Edward wondered softly, “what has the news said? I don’t keep up with these sorts of things. Too macabre.”

“Just that the person makes precise cuts, so he’s probably a hunter or something experienced,” Jessica explained, “The blade he’s using is dull though, and all the bodies end up in sewers and waterways.”

Her girlfriend frowned, “I don’t want you walking home alone anymore.”

“Thanks hun, but looks like only men are getting targeted,” she made a sly smile before adding, “besides you know I can defend myself.”

“Yeah actually, that’s right!,” The mechanic let out a cheer in agreement, “you should’ve seen, Eddie! The other day some creep was messing with her, and she jammed a knife through his shirt and pinned him to the table! ‘Dude nearly pissed himself!”

The doctor began to sweat. Good lord, was Jessica was scary. 

 

“They just found out who that gutter body was too,” Misty leaned in, “the one that saved Dempsey.”

“Who was it?” Richtofen asked in a millisecond.

“An old man. Shooter or something? I don't remember.”

Just like that, Edward’s stomach dropped. 

“Schuster?” he nearly called out in distress, “I thought he went up north!”

“You know him?”

“He was my supervisor!” he continued the trembling panic.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry Eddie,” Misty frowned, “I didn’t know.”

“No, no, it’s alright,” the doctor stuttered incredulously, “it’s just. How. When.” Richtofen was chipping again, but this time he told himself to run. 

“I’m sorry to leave so suddenly, I need to make a few phone calls,” he told the two, remembering his manners and putting his drink money on the counter.

“It’s no prob, be careful alright? Don’t be afraid to hit me up if you need anything,” the mechanic waved sympathetically.

“Thank you, Misty. It was nice meeting you Jessica,” and he left with haste.

Now alone, the waitress kept her silence for a long moment before speaking, “that man is a bit strange don’t you think?”

“Totally,” she smiled.

“I mean, in a bad way.”

“Bad how?”

“Bad in that…. I think he’s very, very, sick.”

 

\-------

 

Speeding, speeding, speeding. The lights of the tunnel flashed like a strobe, confusing dashed thoughts further. Edward had no idea what the point of his urgency was, there was no one to call, no one to talk to, nothing to reverse the effects. Hell, a short google search would validate that it was indeed Dr. Shuster. It was only fear the sent him swerving his car through twisting mountains. Something needed to ground him, and soon.

 

...Naturally, that something came in the worst way possible, as he spotted two small glowing eyes at the end of the road he blazed. The little grey intruder was frozen with fear as it crossed the road, and Edward slammed his brakes as hard as he could. The stop sounded more like nails on a chalkboard than screeching tires. Perhaps cats really did have nine lives, as he stopped just in time. It thanklessly dashed across the remaining path, and up the stairs of the church looming parallel.

Edward’s eyes could only widen in shock, as he saw the feline hop into the arms of Alister Rapt, Monty’s husband.

Almost immediately, the doctor unbuckled himself and opened the door to shout at the two fearful figures. 

“YOU!!”

The Louisiana ghost blinked and furrowed his brows.

“YOU USED ME!!!” It was now clear that Richtofen was yelling at the cat. Bitterness coated his still trembling fingertips, but only for petty reasons. The cat was getting several meals a day, using his home as it pleased, and still acted so needy and helpless.

“AND YOU,” he looked to Alister, “I DON’T WANT TO SEE THAT CAT NEAR MY HOUSE EVER AGAIN.”

The German soon threw himself back in his car with a heavy slam, and sped off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Side note just so it's not confused for a continuity error: Ed says he has a hard time finding nice people just out of poor self-esteem. He one of those types that think people who treat him well secretly hate him.


	19. Stop Walking Start Swimming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tank and Edward get some alone time  
> TW// Drugs

“Ah,” Nikolai frowned at the mess on the table, “spilled salt.”

Dempsey observed the toppled shaker, and spoke with confident assurance, “just toss it over your left shoulder.” 

“It doesn’t work that way.”

Tank proceeded to take a pinch and do so anyway.

“...that’s your right shoulder.”

“Whatever!”

 

The diner was bustling with the morning rush, and the group of friends all stuffed themselves into one booth. Even those who couldn’t squeeze in, like Nikolai and Misty, pulled up their chairs to share the space. Everyone seemed excited for the celebration tomorrow, as they planned on what to bring and where to meet. Richtofen, meanwhile, was humored to be part of ‘the loud table’ in a restaurant for once; the one where there’d be sudden and loud bursts of laughter that annoyed neighboring strangers.

 

Though the circumstances of Schuster’s murder rattled around the doctors mind, Edward did well in distracting himself. God knows if he were left to his own devices, fear would easily consume him. Though, that’s the best part of having a big, strong, soldier for a friend; in Tank’s company, Richtofen would always feel safe. 

It hurt to see an old family friend go, especially when he was so selfless to offer Edward the job in the first place. He did not deserve a death as cruel as this. Richtofen sent flowers too, but held a promise not to go to the funeral. That would make things real, and he was contented with this being background noise to his otherwise promising improvement. 

 

Here, he chose to become the tide that rushed onto shore, toppling the sand castle of worry that the subconscious tried to build. 

Over and over with each wave. 

Each new friend.

Every little victory.

So much so, that even though the visions of crumbling earth continued, he would not be afraid. 

Just holes, 

Just water, 

Just ghosts.

Fighting a creeping sense of dread, gluing the cracks in his teacup frame.

 

Waking Up every day was exciting too, especially when he and Dempsey shamelessly peppered little endearments here and there. Finding a place to lean on one another, grazing their fingertips in passing, enough flirting that made their other friends roll their eyes and gag. It was sickeningly sweet, and anyone within a 10 mile radius could feel the heavy presence of need in the air. Some swore it sent birds fleeing from their trees. 

Still, the two found the exchanges confusing and pressing, like feeling a splinter under one’s skin but not being able to find it.

Of all their tender affections, Edward loved kissing Tank most of all. The Marine’s lips were soft and tender, and Dempsey held the doctor’s own with kindness and respect. Although, now and then the embarrassment would return, and Edward could only hope Tank would chalk the pecks up to ‘just a European thing.’ It was apparent that the Marine was giving the shyer German time, and the show of emotional intelligence only sparked more interest.

Richtofen thought it nice, not having to throw caution to the wind and devote himself to a relationship. At least, until he could be certain that they were bound by love instead of responsibility alone. The worry could ebb away with each confession, each moment shared, each thoughtful kiss. Things felt natural this way.

 

Just now, Edward moved to place another peck on the soldier’s freckled cheek, a return for the compliments his beloved spoke between bites of his meal. 

A little discussion held about extending a haunted home to a certain four-legged friend:

“Hey, it’s true!” the marine laughed from the show of thanks, “that terrier looks happy as ever. I think it’s only right that you get to keep him.”

Nikolai mused with hesitation, “even if he can walk, it’ll still be months until he’s got his strength back. He needs physical therapy, and with that I am well trained.”

The German nodded modestly, “He’d be very happy, I have lots of space. Not to mention I can afford his needs.”

The man stroked at his beard, contemplating for a long moment. Oddly enough, as a protective friend, it was now easier to trust Richtofen with Dempsey’s heart. The life of a living being, however? He needed to bargain. 

“...Only after he can run again. Then he is yours.”

“Really?” Edward chirped with excitement. How he missed the company of a dog’s unconditional love….. Even if Dempsey offered the same. Maybe the Marine was secretly some hound, that could be the only explanation. 

“You’ve done good for little birds, so I think I can trust you with handicapped dog,” the Russian shrugged.

Misty gasped, “woah! Nikolai said ‘trust’ and ‘you’ in the same sentence!”

“I’m not that doubtful,” he defended himself.

Takeo poked at his fiance playfully, “you count the plates after closing to make sure none were stolen.”

“They’re nice plates!”

 

Richtofen was uncertain for the future, yes; but he was also happy. 

Today would be a good day.

 

As the droning of conversation carried on, the doctor turned his attention to a television suspended. It was a monument to older times, placed to keep guests updated on local news as they ate breakfast. However, the channel remained silenced as to not add to the ambiance, and instead held scrolling subtitles which ticketed their way across the bottom. Edward had to squint to read the fine print;

Something about the predicted weather for tomorrow’s festivities. Blue skies.

Something about temperature cooling earlier and earlier by the year. Fall.

Something about… something.

The tall man blinked as the black highlight of letters stilled into a solid pitch bar, yet still moved as if the text were still running. Unraveling and unraveling until the strips had fully overtaken the screen. He glanced at others that watched the television, curious. Though to Edward’s dismay, none reacted, and kept their eyes glued to the square void. Instead, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath to ease his thoughts. 

It’s ok,

It’s ok,

Just a blank screen. Nothing to be afraid of. He knew he was not afraid.

...Though, that’s the thing about fear; even if one knows there is no danger, the body can and will betray you. Trembling limbs and twitching muscles.

 

Opening his eyes, he was relieved to see the screen return to its scheduled programming. Yet, it did poorly in making matters improve. The headlines read familiar details about the recent disappearances. Richtofen was made nervous by the warnings appearing on screen:

‘Curfew at 8pm starting this Friday.’

‘Never walk or jog alone.’

‘See something - Say something.’

He frowned, all he wished was for a peaceful life. But even if he were in Germany being depressed, or in America being murdered, he never seemed to catch a break.

 

Suddenly, the walls of the diner began to wither and curl, as if made of paper being lit on fire. Dark spots in the middle which would burn away, revealing the ghost of a forest surrounding. In this fog, a rocky creek bed led trickling water through a false-dawn. As for the friends and strangers that once shared his space, he became face blind to their identity, figures painted opaque and expressions unreadable.

He knew this was not real, but now he was afraid. 

...That’s the thing about fear; even if there is no tangible danger, the psyche can and will betray you. 

As though stepping on an ant hill. There would be no deathly threat, he knew that; but the natural reaction to feeling one’s skin crawl would be to fiercely brush the source away. Perhaps to wriggle one’s extremities and shake off the insects.

 

As the burning holes grew closer, he jumped with a terrorized yelp, half-standing and half-sitting against his place deepest in the booth. He scrambled back frantically until he was perched upon the top of the seat. The plastic-y texture of the bench squeaked by the friction of his boots.

He now trembled like an oak in fall which shed it’s dead leaves. Sometimes the humanoid shapes would get closer, but the moment he scrambled backwards, they would do the same. 

In the distance of the spectral wood, he could still see the glowing television flashing photos in memoriam, pictures of strangers smiling. He wished to reach out and palpate the faces, wanting to identify them. But, it was just a TV screen.

 

As this happened in Edward’s headspace, it mirrored itself in reality. The German caused a great scene as he shouted at anyone that tried to approach his drenched figure. Though the diner had thinned out in terms of customers by now, the several guests still present only gawked at the unusual display.

“Eddie, it’s alright!” Tank tried to ease his friend, but the older man did not appear to register the words.

“What’s wrong with him?” Jessica scrunched her face in terror.

“Is he having a seizure?” Takeo gasped urgently.

“Someone grab him!” Misty called out.

“No, don’t-” the soldier tried to protest, but Nikolai was already moving to pull the figure Richtofen from the pedestal of delusion. 

Of course, Dempsey was right in saying so, as the firm and imposing approach made the doctor scoot further back, and tears joined the mosaike of expression. So much so, that his hand slipped, and the unbalanced pose caused him to topple over into the next booth over, banging his head on the table with the piercing ring of silverware on platters.

The good news was, he wasn’t bleeding. 

The bad news was, he was instead met with the shrieks of a pregnant woman.

“Get this guy away from me!” she scrambled from the chair as quick as possible, as Edward had landed right next to her.

While Nikolai helped the woman up and out, Tank ran over to Richtofen’s crumbled form to pull him from his tight posture.

It’s ok, It’s ok, Nikolai told the woman, an attempt to de-stress.

It’s ok, It’s ok, Dempsey told the man, now cradled tightly in his arms.

 

Though the doctor initially thrashed at the sudden constriction around his body, he stopped when he noticed the familiar warmth of Tank’s chest. The fall seemed to knock Edward back to reality, as he was now panting labored breaths. His body seemed to forget breathing was a thing in his moment of panic. However, he still said nothing, only blinking incredulously to the dozens of eyes watching his crying, sweating, corpse.

He tugged onto the Marines sleeves to pull him close, and burried his shameful face. Softly, he began speaking a muffled string of words, silent enough that the language remained unclear.

“It’s alright, Eddie, I promise,” Tank cooed again, causing the taught muscles of Edward’s shoulders to relax.

Dempsey pulled himself away to look the German in the eyes.

He stared back, “...I need to get out of here.”

“Alright, let’s go,” he quickly assured before speaking to his friends, repressing panic with calm worry, “I’m bringing him to my place.”

The couple left behind a trail of silence.

 

Tank helped Edward into the Truck, who was still uttering soft words he couldn’t make out. Tears of embarrassment fell too, prints on white pavement that spelled out anxiety. 

After he was buckled in, Richtofen guarded his flooded eyes, and the Marine called Daisy to comfort his trembling friend. 

“You take SSRI’s?” Dempsey asked as he climbed into the driver side, and turned the engine key.

“Nein.” Edward sighed, hiding his face into the retrievers sunshine fur.

“Yeah, probably not...Risperdal?”

“Nicht mehr.”

“English?”

“Not anymore,” he spoke muffled.

“Ok, it has to be Clozapine.That could explain the harsh fever? Maybe Zyprexa, it does that too.”

Richtofen raised his head, eyes red and puzzled by the intimate knowledge of pharmacy shelves, “Aripiprazole.”

“Dose?”

“30mg.”

“Jesus, that’s a bit much don’t you think? Monty trying to knock you out?”

“I don’t know,” he muttered, and put his forehead back into Daisy’s thick coat. She only whined and let her heavy body press back into the touch.

Meanwhile, Dempsey leaned against the window, “what happened back there? You’d think with that dose, it would’ve toned down an episode like that.”

“Something horrible is happening. To me. Around me. I’m being warned, I think.”

“Does it have something to do with your boss?”

“.. I don’t know.”

“Well, don’t worry,” the marine smiled, “the neighbors are mostly a bunch of old folks, so it’ll be safe and quiet there.”

“...I’m a mistake.” Edward spoke suddenly.

“Woah! Who’s talking bad about themself now? You’re not a mistake,” Tank frowned very serious intent.

“Then why do I still feel terrible?” the doctor lamented, “something is tearing me apart, and it won’t stop until it’s satisfied.”

Dempsey asked as he furrowed his brow, “what’s ‘it’?”

The German again held his tongue. It was the river, and a flood, and something about cosmic voids in his own back yard… but he could not share this. Richtofen already looked like an idiot, and he was too close to understanding the results of his laborious experiment to spoil things now.

Besides, words would fail him anyway. 

 

Edward was once hopeless, so he moved.

He was lonely, so he found friendship.

He was afraid of judgement, so he confessed his honest self.

However, here, there was no way to fix the intangible fear that something was coming, and it would be his fault.

 

“Eddie, you’re not a mistake,” the marine filled the gap sternly, and did his best to force truer feelings out, “I know because you’re. Very important. To me. Mistakes need fixing, but you don’t.”

The doctor sneered, “people aren’t meant to live on a rollercoaster of such drastic ups and downs. It’s not right. I think I’ve been forsaken by some creator. A sadistic one.”

“People get scared of things they don’t understand. Especially here, where all these randos are placid as hell. They don’t know any better.”

“...Sometimes I think you’re the only one that tries to learn.”

“Like I said, you’re important to me. The others care about you too, I promise.”

“Exactly how do they care?”

“Uh, not in the way I do.”

“....What way is that?” Richtofen asked, but it was at the worst timing as Dempsey pulled into the parking lot. The apartment complex looked more like a motel, with large windows beside every entrance, and a railed walkway that led around each floor. The winds have obviously had their say when it came to the state of the structure too. The housing was new and modern, however weathered by several seasons passed. Even now, the downcast sky and colorless breeze made Edward feel as though it were fall already.

 

“I have something that can help us calm down, alright?” Dempsey spoke as he turned the engine off, “C’mon.”

 

As the three entered, Tank steadied Richtofen’s weakened body and led him to the couch. The doctor wasn’t surprised to see the home arranged similar to the garage where he worked. An organized mess of stacked books, cardboard boxes with mysterious contents, a kitchen over flown with dishes. At least the dishes were cleaned, Edward figured.

Likewise, he saw that many cabinets had a rag tied around the handle, but this only puzzled the doctor. He had no idea what that could accomplish. 

Still, the place was at least nice and homey, a stark contrast to its dull shell. There were many blankets and pillows strewn about, even plants in the window. Edward could not help but be amused by some structure stuck between the walls of a thin hallway, probably one of those pull-up bars. It was just as entertaining to see a small area dedicated to his beautiful hound. A few pictures of her at a lake, when she was a puppy, a small painted ceramic with what he assumed was once her small pawprint. It was endearing, considering that the real Daisy was right there almost constantly.

 

Just then, he observed as Tank led the old girl to his room, and closed the door so she could not leave.

“I don’t like her smelling this stuff,” he said simply and dug through some drawers.

“Smell what?” he wondered; a question that was quickly answered when he spotted a small zip-lock bag in his friend’s hand.

“Oh no, no, no. I am NOT doing drugs,” Edward asserted frantically.

Dempsey laughed, “it’s just weed, you’ve never tried it?”

“No!”

“I mean, there’s a small chance it’ll make you antsy, but there’s also a chance it’ll help you relax. Only if you want to try, a‘course.”

The German scratched the back of his irritated skull, “Don’t misunderstand, I do trust you to watch me, but I don’t want to jeopardize my job.”

“It’s still a couple months till school starts again, right?”

“Yes..” Edward hummed, at least entertaining the idea, “I wouldn’t know what I’m doing though.” 

"We can try shotgunning."

"What's that?"

"I take the smoke and pass it, it's easier on you I guess," Dempsey shrugged, his intentions in offering more for mutual benefit. 

"I suppose that's better.." Edward considered for a moment before nodding, “ok. Let’s try.”

 

With the swift flick of a lighter, and the tapping of a glass pipe, Dempsey reclined against the arm of the couch and inhaled. Holding the smoke in his closed mouth, he gestured to Richtofen with his pointer, accompanied by a mischievous glint in his eyes.

The bashful doctor crawled over until he was above his marine. Edward’s face could only shade a deep rouge from how suggestable the position looked. At least Tank seemed to enjoy it as much as he did.

Then, gently, he pulled Edward down so their lips ghosted over one another’s, and exhaled. Already flustered, Eddie accepted the gift of earthy smoke steadily past his nose. The warmth of their breath. Their chests nearly, but not quite, pressed. It looked as intimate as it felt, white clouds swirling between them as if swapping souls.

It wasn’t until Dempsey grew tired of the distance that he molded the exchange into an experimental kiss. All while still pushing the haze past anxious lips. Richtofen gulped, trying hard not to cough up a lung in the mans handsome face, and Tank kept himself firmly held. Of course, the doctor was happy to surrender, and closed his eyes to return the affection. He could never deny his own heart, especially when it thumped so loudly in his burning ears. He hoped his better half could hear his body sing the feelings.  
Still, Edward did his best to repress a noise of approval. A little something of a needy and contented sigh. Dempsey, on the other hand, seemed to have no qualms about doing so himself.

One could see comfort rest as it unraveled. Excuses to love. 

To hold. 

To touch.

A moment lasting long enough to find reasons to understand.

 

Tank finally pulled away, grinning at the starstruck doctor on top of him. Needless to say, he was pleased with his work. 

Richtofen, meanwhile, was able to erupt into a fit of coughing. Tiny bursts of haze escaped as though he were a sputtering engine. The clouded heat burned in his lungs. In his throat. The gasps came to a point where Edward could no longer hold himself above Dempsey, and let himself rest across his stomach. 

Pressed to the soldier’s chest, glowing lively, brightly, and beating notes to his own personal rhythm. The German craved an encore.

"You alright?" 

"I wasn't expecting that," Richtofen spoke between light coughs, still blushing madly, "I don't feel any different though."

"You will," the mechanic smiled playfully, "think you can handle more?" 

 

Edward was more into kissing Tank then he was determined to get high, thus nodded timidly. The man was unsure if his American friend even considered it kissing at all. The exchange felt important at least? Perhaps? Yes, he was certain. At least, as certain as one could be while straddling their so called friend.

 

Whatever the case, Richtofen wanted more.

 

Dempsey took another drag, and the German leaned into him. 

Just as before, they ghosted their mouths over one another’s, before pressing soft lips together. Yet this time, goosebumps shot through Edward like lightning when his marine slid tongue into the needy kiss. Richtofen could not resist a subtle cry, and eagerly accepted. Their tongues moved together slowly, and the two delved deeper into their vices. 

Careful exploration and sensual attention to one another’s wants. A tender massaging of vulnerable flesh. Twisting flicks that could make cherry stems fall by the wayside. Noises that drove the other to action.

Kissing Dempsey was exciting and wonderful and all Richtofen had hoped for. He could feel Tank move experimentally in tooth and cheek, as Edward reflected so. He did not know what to offer besides passionate compliance. Especially after abstaining from any sort of romance for so long.

 

There was no longer smoke left, yet the two kept going. The shorter man wrapped his free arm around the German to pull him closer, and Richtofen moved to intertwine their legs. 

Being held so closely to Tank’s chest made the foreigner feel safe and protected. Although, Richtofen no longer knew what to do with his hands. He refused to let his digits wander to unchaste places, and instead grasped the back of Dempsey’s head; tugging lightly on caramel locks. It wouldn’t be long until the neatly brushed hair was tangled by long fingers.

The marine seemed to like this too, as Richtofen felt a smile against his busy lips. Pleasing Dempsey lit his heart into a viking’s funeral. A boat set aflame and sailed to a place of no destination, only to burn away the flesh that once was. 

Edward felt new as the defining lines of friendship and love turned to ash.

 

After some time, Tank rolled over so he was now sitting on the doctor’s stomach. He took another hit of the drug before grabbing one of Edward’s wrists softly, yet possessively, and pinning it above his head. Meanwhile, his freer hand moved to cradle the crook of the German’s arching spine. The calloused palm on vertebra made Richtofen shiver.

Here, the marine added something new, and began to nibble on the fragile skin of Edward’s lips. Not to start bleeding, but enough for the doctor to feel the love bite.  
Richtofen whined in muted ecstasy, and arched further against the sensation. Although it was exciting to be restrained, he still struggled against the hold. A wanting to wrap himself around Dempsey. Of course, all Richtofen could do was contort his spine to feel the weight of the man from above. Perhaps, even to use his free hand to clutch onto the mechanic’s shoulder and bring him closer.

Closer.

Closure.

 

The marine knew exactly what he was doing, and he knew exactly how to make his friend squirm. It was the sweetest kind of torture, bound in a pretty little package that said, “Just friends” on the card. 

Naturally, the gift was far too enticing to care about this small detail, and the gesture was accepted by its rightful assumptions. An experiment in romance.

 

Dempsey continued to fill his lungs with the dense haze while Edward made gasps of pleasure from the intimate administration. Gently calling the soldier’s name in all iterations imaginable. Wanting more and more of the invigorating kiss. Finding little impressions the read his friend’s heart from the languid licks across his Adam’s apple. 

 

Finally pleased with the teasing of his enamoured doctor, Tank pulled away. At last, they gazed into each other's eyes. Edward's held dreamy and blown into dilated spheres, while Dempsey's were roguish and warmed. 

The marine soon relinquished his grasp around his friend’s arms, and let his hands slide down the sides of Richtofen's figure, all until they found rest at his waist. The foreigner began to giggle excitedly.

"There it is." Tank smirked.

Euphoric, Edward replied, "I think I'm starting to feel it." 

He continued laughing as he covered his face, peaking between his long fingers.

"What's so funny?"

"Was that a kiss?"

"Mayyyyyybe," the American hummed, taking another hit and moving so Richtofen was pressed between the couch and his arms.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been kissed like that before...you’re really good.” The doctor blushed from the crook in Dempsey’s arm.

"Don’t forget to leave a Yelp review.” 

The two again began to giggle madly.

 

As Edward lay there, his mind was lost in wondrous thought. The closeness of his friend, the chemical in his blood, the ease in his chest. It was definitely love, but it was also what he sought most of all. It was a home. 

So much more, so much more.

Again uncertain for what was to come, but happy as unanswered thoughts stood.

 

Here, Edward finally felt comfortable enough to ask a pressing question, gently as possible.

"Dempsey?”

“Hmm?”

“How do you know so much about medication?" 

He soon felt his companion shift uncomfortably.

Edward added in response, "You know I would never pass judgement, it's a world I've been acquainted with for a long time."

Tank cast a thousand-mile stare as he pondered further. Appearing as though he were choosing words carefully.

“There must be some reason you see Monty too?”

With a sigh, he explained as if the confession were of meaningless trivia, "I got messed up real bad in that damn desert…No matter what chemicals the doctor’s pump in me, I can’t forget."

Edward looked to Dempsey, who continued to hold the stare across the room.He was certain his beloved was speaking of his army service. 

"I still have dreams about it too. Bright lights, shouting, guns. And I always wake when I get shot again." He moved his calloused palm to his chest, palpating the marks one at a time, “I feel it burn through me, like it’s real again.”

“I’m so sorry, Tank.”

The man only shrugged, “I got myself into that mess anyway.”

"...Is that why you hate thunder?"

"Yeah," he chuckled to mask the pain, "Also why I drive out to some nowhere beach on the 4th."

Edward pretended not to hear the crack in Dempsey's voice. He was a proud man. He was resilient and strong. Trusting and boisterous. There was no surprise that such a person wanted to conceal vulnerability. As a doctor, Richtofen knew well that military and survivors were most at risk for Post-Traumatic, but Tank did so well in holding himself together that it never crossed his mind. However, Edward often did the same with his own health. More places to empathize, he supposed. He wished that people didn’t mistake repression for healing, in fact, he started considering opening up a little more. He wanted to talk about his family, or how he grew up, or happy memories, or funny stories about his ex’s.

At this point, it felt as though an apology were in order. Tank was so open and honest, but he himself built walls. Fear of getting hurt, or worse, judged. 

 

Dempsey suddenly sat up and faced the German, a new confession on his mind. His false-apathy turned into some seriousness.

"Can I tell you a secret?"

"Of course?"

Tank hesitated, “Daisy isn't just my dog."

Already confused, Edward tilted his head inquisitively. 

 

"She’s my service dog."

 

With that, everything clicked. Her perfect training, the reason Tank refused to go anywhere without her, how close the two seemed to be, Daisy’s ability to read feelings, all of it. She truly was intelligent. 

 

To be vulnerable. Pride was beginning to look more like self-harm.

 

"Why do you keep that a secret?" Was all Richtofen could think to ask.

"I don't want people to feel bad for me, or think I'm sick. I just want to be normal."

Shame for something one cannot help was all too familiar to Edward, and he uttered little validations as he caressed Dempsey’s cheek, "I understand, but I promise you are none of that. Even with my knowing, I don't see you any different. In all honesty, you and Daisy have something beautiful."

"...Thanks, Eddie.”

"Besides, I bet if everyone knew, they'd see you prove all those stereotypes wrong."

Dempsey scrunched his nose, "Well only Tak, Nik, and Misty know. So don't go around telling anyone else."

"I would never, I assure you." Edward spoke with equally serious intent.

Tank leaned in and gave his friend a great hug, "I knew that if anyone would get it, it'd be you." 

Edward hugged back, finding paradise in the Marine’s arms. He wanted to tell Dempsey so much. That he was strong, that he was selfless, that he trusted him, that he should be proud of who he is.

...but words failed him.

Words failed, but Tank heard the comfort loud and clear.

 

The two soon laid together once again. This time with a large bag of chips, made hungry by the drug they likewise shared. The older man felt the tremors that once shook his friend’s skin find respite. Relief. Trust. 

 

After some time, Richtofen again looked anxiously, “Hey.”

“Yea?”

“Is. Is it alright if I kiss you again?”

The soldier became a deep red and hid his face with a turn of his head, “is it because you’re high, or do you actually want to kiss me?”

“Both, I think.” 

It was not like this was false. Edward knew very well he would never possess the confidence to ask for this kind touch in any other setting. Besides, saying ‘I really want this’ would be far too embarrassing. The American would never let him live it down.

 

“..then sure,” was all Tank could mumble.

 

Still laying side by side, the German slowly rested his hand on Dempsey’s cheek, cupping a strong contour in his hands. It burned hot against his palms, and the closeness allowed him to feel the soldier’s racing heart once again. 

Edward finally began pecking here and there with thoughtful and attentive motions. The soldier’s lidded eyes, his nose, his jaw. Small details he loved so much. Then carefully, he pressed his lips to Tank’s once again. 

At first, the younger man simply let his eyes flutter shut, which Edward soon copied. However, the exchange became overtaken by passion with every kiss the followed. Holding the proximity a bit longer, opening his mouth a little wider, becoming a bit needier with the little noises that escaped his arching throat. Dempsey suddenly began to kiss back like he meant it, and the two shared another exchange of French endearments. 

As before, it was languid and reaching, precise and focused. It wasn’t until the doctor felt an arm drift to his hips that he became particularly excited. 

The ticklish feeling of Tank sliding his hands up the back of his sweater made him blush, but he could tell how the smaller man restrained himself from going too far. It was the simple need to feel skin on skin, and Edward found solstice in the respect Dempsey had shown for his body. The shy reality being, that Tank wanted to worship the stalky form in all its unique divinity.

To this, Richtofen threw his arms over his friend’s soldiers, and whispered phrases the American could not understand between warm breaths. Seldom did Dempsey hear Edward’s German tongue hum in a positive light, but having it uttered so close to his flushed ears gave him goosebumps.. 

It took every bit of restraint for Richtofen to not put his hands up Tank’s shirt to grope the tight muscles underneath. Instead, Edward let one of his legs hook around the mechanic’s, desperate for the most closeness that this complicated exchange allowed. The Marine was pleased, apparent as he pressed his short nails gently into Richtofen's thighs, and tugged their bodies flush against each other’s.

 

It was then that Dempsey moved his lips to Richtofen’s craning neck, and the older man gasped at the sudden bites against his veins. More needy than before. He soon moved to Edward’s collarbone, occasionally shifting attention to the German’s ear lobes or jaw. At some point, Tank had even pushed down the neckline of the thin sweater to bare more space. Calculated love bites on sun-kissed skin.

Edward cried louder, and pushed his long fingers through Tank’s hair, pressing the man closer to his hungry throat. A gesture which encouraged Dempsey to bare his feelings, and teeth, with more intent.

 

“I swear, American,” Richtofen breathed in ecstasy, “if you mark me I will never forgive you.”

Dempsey hummed against the tender flesh, “no one’s going to see a little hickey... especially from here,” and bit down far harder than he had been on the doctor’s shoulder. 

Edward’s body jolted as he called out Dempsey’s name in a gasp. The passion struck dempsey’s heart as an arrow, and he never wanted this to end. Hearing his beloved call his name so eagerly was exciting.

 

However, Tank was still unsatisfied, and moved to straddle himself above Edward once again.

Here, the doctor made a fearful motion and tugged his shirt down from his once exposed stomach. A line drawn that said ‘do not cross.’ That was fine though.

Instead, the soldier eased and pulled his beloved into another hug.

“It’s alright,” Dempsey soon rested his lips to the older man’s forehead, allowing Richtofen to feel the softened smile that was concealed, “I trust you, and I ain’t afraid neither.”

 

The two held this place and wrapped their arms around each other, once again contented with the empty spaces. Edward did not need to say ‘I trust you too,’ as the affections spoke for themselves. 

“You’re so strong,” Tank spoke as he traced his thumb across the marks he left.

The German nearly burst out laughing, “you must have me confused for someone else.”

“The universe did you wrong, but you still became the man you are. Someone good.”

The soldier buried his nose in the mahogany locks, “you don’t let anything stop you from at least trying to be happier. You care if someone worries.”

“...”

“You’re so damn smart, too. A doctor for god's sake, even with your hurdles you made that happen.”

“...”

“I dunno, I just. You’re really good.”

“...thank you, Dempsey,” was the most Richtofen could offer from his huddled place in the man’s arms. A sarcastic comment sat at the back of his mind, ‘eloquent as ever, Tank.’

The Marine wouldn’t know it, but it had been a long, long, time since he had heard such forward and genuine kindness.

The Marine wouldn’t know it, but Edward wanted to cry tears of happiness and heartbreak, feelings that he was seen for what he truly was. A man trying very hard.

The Marine wouldn’t know it, but just now, Richtofen had completely fallen in love.

 

Tank suddenly let his arms raise above like a preacher in church, “and damn, those EYES!”

“Ok there, Casanova. Settle down.” Edward laughed, to which his beloved copied gleefully.

And they lay,

And they lay,

Today would be a good day, and even the shadows that shown would be a blessing in disguise.

 

Proximity brought grogginess which began to weigh their tired eyes.

Edward yawned into the man’s chest, “I’m exhausted.”

"Weed does that," Dempsey uttered in response, and checked his phone, "damn, how is it this late?"

Richtofen looked over to see it was now 1am, "... I should definitely get home now."

"If you want you could have my bed for the night. ‘Not really safe to be out at this hour, and we’re too stoned to drive.”

The German blushed, "If I stay, I won't leave you on the couch."

"It's fine, I promise," the tired mechanic stretched. "I don't feel like moving."

Edward shoved him playfully, "Oh come on."

"Nooooo," he fake-whined.

With a huff, the doctor stood, "very well then, do you want Daisy out here too?"

"Yes please," he said in a sing-song voice, “G’night, Eddie.”

 

Edward leaned over and kissed his friend’s forehead, “goodnight.”

Richtofen stepped to the bedroom and opened the door, finding Daisy waiting patiently, and sent her out. From the living room, he heard a loud ‘oof!’ as the hound hopped onto her partner’s stomach, and knocked the air from his lungs. 

 

...Being alone in Dempsey’s room was very odd. 

 

Although invited, it still seemed like an invasion of privacy. Or a crossed line. Edward looked around to find that the marine was not exaggerating when he spoke of the plants Takeo gifted. They lined the window cill and hung from the ceiling and walls, far more than what sat in his living room. It was at least nice to see that they were all well taken care of. Apparently Tank found value in their care, just as Takeo himself did. 

As a whole, the small bedroom was very relaxing. A thick comforter and several woolen blankets sat skewed on the bed, dyed and stitched in mismatched colors. A generous amount of pillows stacked at the headboard, and, of course, a jar of dog treats on the nightstand. Obviously, his American friend tried very hard to get a good night’s rest.

 

Edward only slid off his jeans and shoes, and crawled into the sheets. 

From here, the doctor mused softly, “I didn’t know he could play,” when finally noticing a guitar perched against the door.

Maybe one day he could hear, or maybe they could kiss again, perhaps he could share the bed with Dempsey too. Maybe.

 

Richtofen smiled at the endless possibilities that crossed his mind.

The hopeful thoughts lulled him to sleep.

 

The next morning, the pair were left with a huge elephant standing in the living room, painted white with great brush strokes that read:

‘So yeah. We made out for a few hours. We could say that we were way high and forget about this, but we both know damn well that we enjoyed it... So what now?’

 

Naturally, Edward and Dempsey avoided an answer. Idiots.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Russians have that "if you knock over salt it's bad luck" thing, but that's the end of it apparently? Westerners believe tossing the spilled salt over the shoulder reverses it. Weird?
> 
> Also, Daisy is a service dog! So that little detail about rags tied to handles lets her open things for Dempsey if he needs it :^)


	20. As the Crow Flies I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward is excited to spend the 4th of July with his friends.

The chilly air of mountains nigh introduced a prelude to fall. A rhythm that reverberated off hillsides, though not to be confused with the opus that haunted bad dreams. 

Light and kind,

forgiving and romantic.

After today, the winds would turn brisk, the sun would mark the days less and less, and the forest would surrender its former self to the warm tones of autumn. 

Though now, this preview of seasons would be temporal. The progression of a long day ahead carried on, taking the cool dewdrops with it. It would only take another few minutes until the familiar heat of summer returned.

 

Dempsey yawned as he pulled into Edward’s driveway, awake far earlier than he’d like to be: 

“I’ll see you in a few hours. Make sure to pack sleeping gear too.”

“Of course, and thank you,” Richtofen scratched, “again. For yesterday.” 

Edward himself was not certain if he ment his friend’s show of hospitality, or the well-needed hours spent locked together. Was it weird to thank someone for intimacy? For a kiss? He was just as unsure. At the very least, the doctor hoped Tank didn’t regret it. 

“It’s no problem,” the Marine smiled, “later alligator.” 

Dempsey soon waved as Daisy barked out her own farewell. The tail-lights of the old ford illuminate, 

two red dots that disappeared over the horizon. 

Tiny constellations fading in daylight, 

some northern star.

 

With a turn of the key, the doctor entered his home, and was welcomed by the sound of excited calls from upstairs. It was no surprise he could hear the hatchlings through the floorboards, given the volume the eight little things could amass. Though Despite this, Richtofen hadn’t been bothered; it was therapeutic to hear the stirring of life among silence otherwise present. Someone to come home to, in a way.

 

“Hallo little ones,” he cooed upon entering his bedroom and kicking off his shoes.

Dear, had they gotten big. The fullness of plum colored feathers popped from the cardboard produce box he had set them in. There was even experimental flapping, though it looked more like waving wings of fried chicken. 

At this point, the man was almost glad that the fledglings were abandoned. It would be difficult for their parents to keep the large clutch alive and well fed. With his care, even the smallest runt had a chance to live.

Edward wondered if the case were the same for his own childhood circumstances.

 

‘I should probably leave the heat lamp off,’ thought Edward, ‘I don’t want the house to catch fire while I’m gone.’

It was already risky to leave it unattended for hours at a time. A flammable cardboard cradle was not a wise choice either. Yet, nothing had gone wrong. Perhaps the German should stop tempting fate to do its worst, and shut off the heater.

Besides, he was certain that if his house were to burn, it would release the spirit of whatever haunted the lonesome halls; as if a seal were broken. Bad news for the neighbors, as the strange aura would easily make victims of them.

...Actually, maybe he should burn the house down. 

No, no, that’s irresponsible. 

The neighbors were just ignorant. Not evil.

Another private Richtofen thought.

 

In the end, given the hatchling’s growing plumes, Edward knew they wouldn’t freeze. Instead, he changed the towel lining the nest into a thicker blanket; almost the texture of fleece, but not quite. A nicer substitute, he figured.

The man laughed as the chicks huddled into the reaching hand which adjusted their living space.

“Ok, ok,” Richtofen said as he took each into a pouch made from excess sweater bunched on his stomach. 

The doctor rubbed their tiny heads and stroked their sprouting feathers, almost like a proud father. He then pulled a familiar pair of tweezers from the nightstand. The little omens stretched their necks with excitement and clamorred for attention, or rather food, and Edward made sure that each had their fill. 

Yes, the fledglings would be fine on their own.

 

Richtofen couldn’t help but retreat to memories of yesterday. Dempsey really had some nerve, kissing him like that... but god damn did Richtofen love it. In fact, the doctor would call it a successful experiment. At least he knew he could trust the soldier with his body, a trust which was seldom granted. Tank showed no fear or repulsion as well; 

down Edward’s arms, uncertain if grasping rivers or veins.

Through his hair, rooted pitch like fossilled ferns.

Staring into pupils, shifting in light, sucking starlight from Dempsey’s own.

 

To Edward’s guilt, he was almost glad he had that episode.

 

What exactly happened in the diner? The frantic delusions of fever should have ended by now, and it had been more than enough time for the illness to pass in full. There was nothing to trigger such an episode either.

Edward was never one to hear things, like the scratching of talons dug into floorboards, nor lose time, like he had in that tacky art store. Was Albert even a real person? No, he was. Richtofen had left the crafted box in his nightstand. Albert was real and he would see him again soon.

...Though, just now, he still checked the drawer to confirm this. It was there.

Suddenly, he recalled the American’s comment about side effects, as well as the hazy feeling that Takeo had voiced the same fear. Perhaps it was a seizure? 

As a doctor, he knew these weren’t always the stereotypical loss of muscle control and spastic movements. (Although, calling the trembling and fearful pulls “spastic” would not be far off.) It could have easily been a sort of parietal seizure. Unresponsive to those around him, dissociating out of space, hallucinating things he never felt before; it all seemed to add up. 

Still, Richtofen was a hematologist - not a neurologist. Not only this, but the German had never been prone to such things. The only head injury he suffered was in his childhood from leaking monoxide, and he had no way of knowing if it was hereditary. That family tree was cut down a long time ago. 

Edward figured he could do some more reading on the matter; something else to pass time on the road, before bringing the concern to Monty.

 

After the crows were satiated, he tucked them away into the cardboard nest, and began to pack. 

Pill counter, a brush, some clothes, a towel; nothing particularly special for such a trip. However, Edward couldn’t help but second guess the gleaming knife that sat staring on his bed. Nothing but extra weight? Something to be lost to the ocean? No, it’s best if he left this home. 

Instead, he found the brand new sketchbook. It would be nice to actually use it, and it could give him something to do on the 6 hour drive. He was eager to do so, wishing to have something to show Albert when he returned. Edward could even draw out the untamed brush of the solitary beach, knowing he shouldn’t swim anyway if he truly was seizing. Yes, this would be better. 

 

Bringing the telescope was a last-minute decision. An old birthday gift from Samantha, and he hadn’t used it once since arriving. In fact, it had only been by chance that he spotted it in the hallway.

Richtofen recalled sharing stories and origins of the heavenly abstract masses, glittering in swirling oils that captured light. However, it had been such a long time the he struggled to recant those old threads. Not unusual, knowing the illiteracy of cosmic bodies was a daily concept he had to work through.

The beach, the clear skies, the peak of the season, all were perfect to share a piece of his childhood. After all, Edward considered it a privilege to experience these constellations. One could gaze at the burning giants, knowing that over the millions of years this rays traveled to reach human perception, the star could have died a long, long, time ago. 

He wouldn’t be alive to see this astral death with his own eyes. Though, to a warm sense of sentiment, he was secured by the distant words of his sister; sharing that he himself held the galaxies in his complicated iris. The stars would be with him forever, and perhaps even her.

Far off galaxies.

Infinite, burning.

Somewhere, even now, they were dead.

Yet, the memory still shined.

 

Richtofen threw the strap of the telescope case over his shoulder and locked the door. 

 

\-------

 

Edward sped his lengthy gait as he passed the familiar church. He had hoped it was too early for Alister Rapt to be lurking, but the German wasn’t willing to take his chances.  
Another uncomfortable exchange, no idea what to say after practically yelling at the old man and his cat. It was a moment of frustration, he would admit. However, it was also oxymoronic to consider a christian, a man of god, filled with hate.

 

Still, with this in mind, Richtofen couldn’t help but slow himself upon observing stained glass that reflected mosaiques on shining light, glowing against a born-again sun. Seldom did he find the parish in daytime. This did well in breathing life back into the depressing aura present by dusk.

Looking further, he found the weathering cracks of time. Rotten wood that sprouted colonies of moss, flaking paint old enough to give frequent visitors lead poisoning, untamed gardens of flowers with no palette. Despite this, it was still nice in some aesthetic sort of way. Kind of how one finds abandoned buildings or overgrown graveyards romantic.

Here, the German got a better look at the very first piece that caught his eye. An angel slaying a lamb: tears in blue, blood in red, imperfections in yellow. Edward could only imagine it had something to do with martyrdom, but then again, he could not see the full form. A stretching willow grew winding tendrils along the corners and shielded what remained. Although, he was contented to accept this as a part of the story. 

Things have to change sometimes; 

perhaps be left to memory, 

perhaps to be re-written. 

Especially for stories that required it.

 

The sign post out front read, “there is no rainbow without first enduring the rain.” It resonated well, maybe even inspired, given his recent days. The biggest ups and downs that confused subconscious feeling.

 

Of course, as Edward’s eyes wandered to the other panes that dressed the church, he realized the Louisiana haunt had been sitting on the steps. 

Staring as he always would, that troublesome cat resting in his lap.

A rude and loathsome creature that only served to appear wherever he would go, dusty and thankless, pretentious and old, and then there was Alister himself.

He couldn’t tell what was worse.

 

This time, Richtofen was determined to not allow this stranger to intimidate him, and the doctor curled his lip into a sneer:

“You!” he called over, the old man turning shocked by the outburst.

“What do you want from me?” Edward frowned

The spirit said nothing, and only blinked curiously. As if trying to pull a reaction out of the German. As if wanting the younger man to answer the question for him.

“Are you following me?”

He adjusted his posture and stared back, the grey cat yawning apathetically. Then, purposefully, Alister stuck his nose in the air with squinted brows. Now it was a direct challenge. Something of, ‘you don’t deserve to stand before me.’ Or perhaps, ‘you shouldn’t be here at all.’

Annoyed, the younger man finally snapped, “well, whatever you’re doing, knock it off! I’ve done nothing to you, and I’ve had enough of this.” 

He stomped off.

 

What Richtofen wouldn’t see, was an aura of melancholy wash over the strange man. 

Self-reflecting.

Pensive.

One would almost say hurt. 

Even, sorry.

 

\--------------

 

Edward was happy to arrive at Takeo and Nikolai’s home. Just in time too; The van, which looked more like an airport shuttle, appeared packed and ready to go. The small group bustled with excitement until they noticed the German’s approach.

Tank, naturally, was the first to greet Edward.

“Doccccc!” He shouted as if they hadn’t seen each other in years, and nearly tackled his companion to the ground. 

Richtofen struggled to steady himself, “good to see you too!”

Dempsey only held the great hug before pulling away, all bright-eyed, “did you shower? You smell good.”

Misty couldn’t help calling loudly from behind: a very simple, “gay.”

Tank huffed with embarrassment and chased after her, Daisy in pursuit. The three were extremely hyper. Something about today brought out their inner child, or, they were keen enough to stretch their legs before several hours of stillness. Edward knew his friend well enough to see how impossible that would be for someone like Dempsey.

Takeo helped Richtofen with his bags, “are you feeling better, doctor?”

“Much, I’m sorry about yesterday too. ‘What too much cold medicine could do,” he half-lied. Purposefully in earshot of Jessica too, a subtle excuse for a behavior out of his hands.

Though, she didn’t seem to pay attention. The bartender was too busy taking candids of her girlfriend rough-housing with Tank. Edward became inspired by the idea. He should take lots of pictures, 

lots of memories, 

lest they ever leave his headspace.

Lest he drift away once more.

 

Dempsey came back panting, and doubled over to catch his breath, “you brought everything you need then?”

Richtofen nodded, “of course, you told me this morn-” 

He was suddenly cut off by a wild gesture by Tank that read, ‘DON’T.’

 

Too late of course, and Misty smirked, “ohhhh, so he stayed the night?”

“Misty, I swear to God-”

Nikolai interrupted before the two could get into it again, “ok, ok, everyone just get in. We should leave so we can arrive in time for lunch.”

 

A rolling engine.

Crows complaining.

And some understanding of fault.


	21. As The Crow Flies II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Road trip!

The rolling van weaved through birch and mountains of the Carolina sticks, like a needle through cloth. Leaves greener than pin-cushion moss sailed down from the wood, and were kicked up by wheels into a trail of fluttering brush. The sharp rays of a midday sun, too, peered through the clouds like small spotlights onto earth. Some stranger’s own personal escape to the heavens. Though they would not consider, nor become frightful, death was always happening somewhere.

Between 7-11 gas stations and Aldi’s markets, between chapels and church, between whitewater and caverns. Down this mobius path, one could find themselves a lonesome drifter. Yet, here, the band of friends and rooted pine were all the company Edward could ask for.

 

The seating arrangements within the van were very amusing. Nikolai and Takeo, or rather, everyone’s babysitters, sat up front. They were easily the most mature, the doctor thought. He wouldn’t blame them for thinking so either; it was clear that he and the others were socially incompetent to say the least.

 

Edward and Dempsey sat in the next row; enough space for the German to rest his dizzying head on Tank’s lap. The German was always prone to car sickness, especially while using his phone. Here, he found that it was difficult to read on the uneven trail through the backwoods. His marine wouldn’t reject this proximity though, even with an audience that wished the two would just get things over with. 

As for Daisy, she found the most comfortable spot on Richtofen’s stomach. The weight only made it hard to breathe, but he didn’t want to hurt her feelings by moving. A noble sacrifice, of course.

 

Having Misty and Jessica in the final row shone a double-edged sword. On one hand, Tank had someone strong to protect the snacks from his ravenous appetite. 

“I’m a fit guy,” Dempsey had complained, “my metabolism is crazy fast- I need to keep the guns happy.”

(Of course, Richtofen would avert his gaze as Tank flexed for emphasis.)

...On the other hand, however, the distance wouldn’t dissuade Misty from climbing over the row of seats to throw a punch into Tank’s shoulder. Edward didn’t understand the ritual, but she seemed to do this whenever she saw a volkswagen. Dempsey consistently struggled to spot the car before she was already winding up the attack. 

Richtofen swore he could see Jessica keep score as well. How there were so many beetles on the road was beyond anyone’s understanding.

 

Aside from the occasional jostling of punches thrown, Edward was pleased to be stretched out across Tank. He was well rewarded with attention too, the way his soldier would play with mahogany locks and twirl it between his fingers. The doctor would maneuver his head with those searching digits, leading his friend, contented to do so. 

Of course, Edward pretended not to think much of this. Motion sickness and romance made for poor combinations. Besides, heaven knows he could never show his face again if he vomited on the object of his affection. He would almost certainly disintegrate on the spot, staining the car seats with a Richtofen-shaped pile of ash.

 

Instead, he kept focus on the lengthy news articles glowing from his phone’s screen. A steady delve into research he promised to make.

From causes like infection and side-effects, to triggers like injury and blood clotting; the prognosis did not look good. He also heard familiar stories like those of meningitis and stroke, to strange vectored diseases found in food or borne in mosquitoes. Though, nothing hit Edward’s feelings on the mark. It seemed as though the German needed a hospital to truly find out what was happening to his body. The issue being: Richtofen absolutely hated being a patient.

Dempsey had long picked up on the strong attention and seriousness that which Edward read. Though, upon asking, the doctor lied. ‘Just some reading on the economy,’ the most boring thing he could think of. 

Richtofen would decidedly handle this himself. Anything to avoid loss of dignity to petty stereotypes.

 

Just now, he shifted his gaze towards a distracted Tank. God, how he could do this forever; he looked so excited, so complete. In fact, the older man was glad that Peter was gone. Unlike remorse felt for the fate of the hatchlings, Peter had no redeeming qualities. (At least, to his own knowledge.) In the end, Richtofen couldn’t picture the kind of man McCain made Dempsey out to be.

Something in his throat wanted to celebrate those cobalt eyes that had shone so brightly. 

To honor someone resilient enough to survive the abusers. 

To thrive around the weight of trauma.

To fawn over the boyish nature. 

All of which typed stories down the mechanic’s rough face. 

The greatest solstice was not that the pair trusted each other to speak candidly, but that they didn’t have to do so at all. Intrinsic understanding and mutual desire to please. Richtofen seldom found a man whose faults brought them closer; for most were shared, granting wordless insight. The unplanned expressions that came from fingers through hair and light giggles were louder than any confession. Even louder than passionate French endearments.

...Of course, that didn’t mean Edward would reject more advances of the sort. Dempsey was far too talented to let that go to waste.

 

Richtofen soon realized that he was not looking to feel completed by Tank; all he wished was to be empty no longer. After all, passed experience taught that love does not mean perfect compassion. The answer was never to fix everything, nor make Edward into someone different. The answer was to cope, and be the man to whom he could feel safe. Love was a verb, an action, after all; one which brings understanding to accept someone as they are. Just as Richtofen had found with his family whom he had loved so much, knowing he could be himself with Dempsey gifted space to grow and to do so through trial. 

 

Edward wanted to be the reason for that smile someday. And who knows? Perhaps, in this moment, he was.

The only cure to this lovesickness was to love even more. 

O’ how they would adore.

The only outstanding debt was the devotion they owed to one another.

O’ how they would reciprocate.

 

Edward made a mental note to remember this moment, and with that, an idea resurfaced.

“Hey. I want a picture of you.”

“What for?”

“I don’t have one, that’s all,” he scratched shyly as he arose.

Tank grinned, and tugged his lazy dog close, “Alright, but get Daze in it too.”

Richtofen chuckled as he took the photo. The golden made a timely yawn that was captured, and Dempsey clamored to see the result. 

Daisy was a silly girl.

Admiring the photo, the doctor commended him, “how is it that you always smile so brightly?”

“Because I’m looking at you!”

Nikolai groaned from the front seat, a very quiet, “bozhe moi-“ under his breath.

Edward hid his face, almost feeling his eyes roll.

“Let's take one together too,” The younger man still became excited.

“I’m not very photogenic,” Richtofen hummed, but still reclined against Dempsey’s chest for the shot. 

 

Yeah, that one was wallpaper worthy. 

 

“Get us too,” Nik beamed.

“Nikolai, I’m driving,” his fiance said flatly.

“You don’t have to do anything,” he smirked, and leaned to press a kiss on Takeo’s cheek. Edward was happy to capture the moment, and found a light blush hidden in dark hairs of the Islander’s beard.

 

Soon, he was taking shots of everyone. Jessica and Misty flashing peace signs, Nikolai stretching out from his seat, Takeo still keeping his eyes on the road (thank god,) Misty re-tying her ponytail, and even Daisy sticking her head into an empty chip bag. 

At some point Tank had even converted a paper cup into a snout, an odd new cryptid to prowl the Carolina backwoods. 

 

Edward warmed brightly as he swiped through the images. Frankly, these were the only ones on his phone (besides a few snaps of his birds and future dog.) Yet here, Richtofen would keep every single photograph; even the blurry ones.

 

Suddenly, there was a great call from the farm girl, “red punch buggy!” And she slammed another heavy fist into Dempsey’s shoulder.

“Jesus Christ! Ok, time out!”

“Big baby.”

“It’s starting to look like I was kicked by a horse,” he whined.

“Yeah,” Nikolai intervened, “because you thought it was good idea to stand behind it.”

“ONE time. I didn’t know that applied to ponies!”

Edward only snorted a laugh, not knowing the metaphor was based on experience. The fact it was a miniature horse made it all the better.

“Not as bad as a bottlerocket burrowing into your leg though,” Tank soon added, rubbing his exposed calf.

Richtofen always thought the large splotch was a birthmark, but he was quick to agree how ‘Dempsey’ it sounded. Although, Nikolai was not impressed.

“Oh, please. Anything hurts more when you’re a child.”

“I was 12!”

“Child.”

Tank then challenged the Russian, “ok, then what’s the stupidest injury you got?”

“I tore my leg open jumping a fence in Ukraine. I still have scar,” and he threw his leg up on the dashboard to show it off. It was deep and prominent, longer than a slide-rule and the texture of a mountain-ash tree. 

Nikolai probably had a good story or two about his youth, felt Edward. Only God knows why he had to jump a fence, or how many he’s jumped in his lifetime for that matter. The memoirs he wrote covered just a few chapters of his life, but it was definite that there still remained plenty of material to work with. Good news to a writer and his fans.

“I’ll play,” Jessica pitched in, “I cut my pinky off at my first restaurant job.”

Misty blinked incredulously, “what? I never noticed!”

“They put it back,” the woman said simply, holding up a very normal hand, “still haven’t finished paying off the hospital bill though.”

Her girlfriend grabbed the hand only to hold it lovingly, “Tank knows this one, but I tied a skateboard to the back of his truck. ‘Only lasted a couple feet before I fell and skinned my arm to the bone.”

Everyone winced, there was something particularly grotesque about peeling. Skin off a grape. The more imaginative of the group pictured the sounds made too. Even worse.

Dempsey looked to Richtofen, who settled back into his lap, “what about you, Eddie?”

The man hummed pensively, hesitating, “I slipped of my roof when I was 14.”

“What in god’s name were you doing up there?” Nikolai asked, (as if he were qualified.)

“Oh you know,” he mused, “stargazing. I only broke an arm though.”

 

The van soon erupted into a game of 20 questions and have you evers. Everyone quickly agreed that stupid and dangerous accidents were the most exciting part of childhood.

Even after the dispelling of menial trivia, spaces were filled with karaoke and talent shows. Richtofen had never heard Dempsey sing, but god damn did it turn him flustered. A voice steady and baritone, but full of a humbling sense of hope. An obvious preference for old Americana. Edward would have joined, had he known the songs of course.

It was difficult to find anything outside of the genre reverberating throughout the Carolina stations. Yet, despite this, Nikolai eventually found a channel playing songs from the 80s. 

The group belted familiar lyrics of their youth talentlessly. 

There likewise came a time when Misty showed off the impressive ability to touch her tongue to her elbow, and Takeo’s startling flexibility of fingertips that defied natural posture. Jessica, meanwhile, had claimed a talent for throwing knives, but this was something everyone had to see to believe. Even her girlfriend thought this was a trick of movies alone. 

It was nice to know that between one another, they were blessed to afford juvenile stupidity. Seldom did the adult world accommodate this.

Eventually, the crew desperately needed a rest after the energetic performance of Birdhouse in Your Soul. It was clear that they wouldn’t make it to the beach before noon.

 

Takeo pulled his van into an isolated gas station. Only two pumps, a convenience store, and a dense treeline of evergreens encircling the makeshift camp. There were spruce and pines too, all letting the scent of their needles dance in dry air.

Daisy was the first to jump out, while the others followed at their own pace; groggy yawns and wide stretches. Richtofen did so as well, and slunk to the back of the car for some fresh air. From here, he could see the distant mountains from wence they crossed, and ahead, flatter terrain to follow. The German wondered how close they were to the coast, as he swore he could smell salt water. Something related, perhaps?

Suddenly, birds overhead flapped great wings, fleeing Daisy as she sauntered through the tall grass. Tank was close behind, but joined the doctor when spotted. An opportunity alone at last. Things needed discussing.

“You alright? You looked a little green.”

“Just dizzy,’ Edward laughed, “apologies for stealing your lap from Daisy.” 

Dempsey chuckled as well, “it’s alright. It’s cute.”

“Oh,” the man blushed. Cute? That was putting shoes on the wrong feet.

“Uh. So about yesterday,“ Tank soon uttered.

Richtofen rocked on his heels, “indeed. Yesterday.”

“I didn’t mean to make you do anything you didn’t want to.”

“No, no, I. That was... Yesterday was good.”

The American sighed as he rubbed the back of his neck, “sorry, I guess I’m getting confused about us.”

Shifting those mismatched eyes, he tried, “If I may be honest. You’re really dear to me, Tank.”

“Oh. Well. You’re important to me too,” he spoke flustered, and pressed a hand to his forehead with a shy smile, “Damn. How is it that you know me so much, but it’s still impossible to talk to you.”

Edward let his reluctant fingertips lace around Tank’s, “it’s ok. I. I think we’ll figure it out.”

“I mean, there’s no hurry? ‘Just don’t want any regrets.”

“I trust you to know what feels right.”

The soldier raised Richtofen’s trembling hand to his lips, and pressed a gentle kiss. An unconventional punctuation mark. 

“You’re incredible, Doc,” he smiled after holding his lips a moment longer, and pulling away.

“I try.” 

“I’m gonna help Nik set up lunch,” he clapped his side for Daisy to return, “you can take a breather. You know, for your stomach.”

“...thank you, Dempsey.”

And the American disappeared from around the car.

 

Richtofen leaned against the trunk with a heavy sigh. His head was spinning again. Happy thoughts of Tank, fear for the future, excited about possibilities. 

Then, there was more nausea.

Tuning, 

and turning, 

and tuning.

 

Though Edward did his best to repress it, the discomfort became too much. He dashed into the brush, and choked up the burning acid. 

He slumped against a tree for support too, as it was a struggle to heave up the contents of his stomach. 

It was all bile. 

It was stained sweat and goosebumps and a struggle to stand. 

It was an uncomfortable heat that coated his skin. 

The man took deep breaths to steady himself, wishing there was somewhere to lay where no insects could crawl.

Glancing up and panting, he stared deeper into the treeline. Pines on the heat haze, moths fluttering among grass, golden light streaming through the canopy. Another attack on his senses. Everything, even smells, happened at max volume. A popping speaker and white noise.

The timber suddenly cracked, and with every fissure formed, it created a loud ringing in his ears. An air of innocence lost. A disconnect. 

Just then, he knew it was happening again.

Whatever ‘it’ was.

To Edward’s surprise, he saw tendrils reach from the chasms, and ancient terrors pulling themselves through tar which seeped. He was quick to realize the contorting figures were the muted postures of the dead, buried in twisting roots of family trees. Schuster, Samantha, his parents, even faces he did not recall. After all, there was no love greater than to lay one’s life down for a friend.

 

The ringing became louder.

Richtofen’s heart raced, but he could not move. 

And louder.

Just a heat haze and blackened mirages.

And louder.

Not afraid, but anticipating the worst.

 

Then, everything stopped. Dead silent as the oily figures stilled. Somehow, the hush was worse than bells that called out like a lost soul. The sweat which stained his brow was now cold, and although he did not stand in water, if felt as though a flow were moving beneath him. Like he were wading in a shallow lake.

 

Richtofen searched and stared, 

He searched and stared,

but only a river stared back.

 

A memory of his childhood arose from nowhere. His body was turned so confused by poison, it locked all the doors in the house Edward had built in his head. 

Throwing a rug over bloodstained linoleum, closing the curtains on the world outside. 

Sealing the tunnel with brick and cement.

For lack of a better word, it was a defense mechanism.

_Eddie was sitting with legs folded under the coffee table, while Samantha lay stretched across the couch. The TV, meanwhile, aired a documentary on volcanoes. A response to the ‘cataclysmic’ eruption in Alaska that had been going on for some weeks now. It was scary to live so close; yet in a strange way the terror was exciting as well._

_Eddie stopped sketching to watch the mesmerizing flow of lava. The texture wasn’t like that of running tides, and the manner in which it pulled apart looked like that of melted steel._

_A beautiful tragedy, powerful and captivating. Natural and fearful._

_Slowly, Edward rose his palms and covered his ears. He closed his eyes and focused on his sound, a low rumble which thumped alone, and silence the world around him. His body was now magma under the shifting plates of earth. Slowly crawling and colliding, dragging the surface with him. It was humbling to find that even the smallest creatures, such as himself, had a world within._

_A gentle tap on the shoulder pulled him from his meditation, and he lowered the pulsing palms of blood and stretching tendon._

_“Is the TV too loud? I can turn it down,” his sister asked._

_“No, I’m trying something,” Richtofen smiled, “people sound like volcanoes.”_

 

In the forest of pitch and tar, the German moved his hands over his ears and slowly shut those borealis eyes. 

 

His sound;

Suddenly he was magma. 

Carving the flow of rivers.

Trembling earth. 

Stronger than terror. 

 

Edward wondered if the supplies of his home grown experiment were left running.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Bozhe moi' is Russian for 'oh my god,' but the way that makes it an interjection.  
> Also, 'the sticks' is slang for a very rural area. 
> 
> ...also 'Birdhouse in your soul' is by They Might Be Giants. And I love it. And I think it suits Richtofen :^)


	22. As The Crow Flies III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anime beach episode.

When Edward opened his eyes, he was awakened by the bounce of tires. A great popping over potholes. Startled, he shot from his place against the van window. 

Dempsey laughed at his disorientated friend, “hey, just in time. We’re almost there.”

“I didn’t realize I fell asleep,” he blinked.

“Yeah, after we ate you got real tired. Don’t worry though; Nikolai passed out too.”

Richtofen looked to the man snoring in the front seat, and reclined. The last thing he could recall was speaking to Tank at a gas station, and then, something of a flashlight shined in his eyes. Bright and flickering. In fact, Edward still attempted to blink away the ghost of bright orbs clouding his vision. A dream, with a memory of events just out of reach. 

At least, from the look of things, he hadn’t wandered off. Or perhaps worse, worried his friends. In fact, the German actually felt better than he had for most of the journey. Maybe all Richtofen needed was some rest. 

 

As he looked out the window, the trees were fewer and far between. The terrain was now rocky crags against a cloudless sky, and ahead lie a picturesque inlet isolated between the cliffsides. Lonely seagulls glided in the air. The smell of salt sticking to skin. 

Daisy stood and wagged at the familiar sight. They had arrived.

 

Takeo parked under a tall oak, and as everyone hopped out, they all found the heat suffocating. Richtofen was just as surprised that the temperature hadn’t turned the beach to glass. 

Not yet, at least. 

Despite this, the flares that shone down didn’t seem to phase his American friends, nor Takeo. As for Nikolai, however, he looked just as unready to become sunburned as Edward was.

Suddenly, Dempsey shot Takeo a challenging glance; a standoff between the two. Then, in an instant, the pair raced to the shore. 

The white flash of their heels marked speedy passage, all while shedding their t-shirts and shoes in a careless hurry. Even Daisy zoomed, excited for the mercy of cool waves. After all, the sight of a retriever in water was as natural as bark on a tree. (though, her own bark sounded louder than the whispers of any forest.)

 

‘Only old when it’s convenient,’ Tank often said.

 

Jessica and Misty would soon follow, but only after helping to unload the car. Naturally, the farm girl complained, but her girlfriend was able to humor her. Specifically: with the promise of some help applying sunscreen. Misty seldom blushed, but just this once she was embarrassed by her own eagerness to do so.

 

As for Nikolai and Edward themselves, they were contented to lounge under the shaded safety of umbrellas. 

 

Richtofen gleefully watched the four chase Daisy, who was carrying a piece of driftwood far too big for her body. He tried not to laugh when Takeo was hit in the kneecaps by the swinging stick, all from the unintentional turn of her head. At least Nikolai found it funny.

 

Edward wished he could join them.

 

The thought made the doctor frown at his own awkward form. His legs paler than the rest of his almond skin, thick black curls which stuck out in uneven patterns. Edward was just relieved that no one commented on him wearing long sleeves to the beach. It wasn’t just to hide the ghosting scores on wrists, but also a very hair chest that trailed an odd path down his stomach, and ribs that exposed his poor self-care. 

...Though, he always wore long sleeves, so his friends probably didn’t notice anyway. Or, they thought white was appropriate for such a day. 

Probably.

 

Still, Edward struggled to see a strange mark flowering from the Marine’s shoulder. Speckled with stark keloids and stitched seams. As if some bird of prey dug talons deep into his skin. 

 

Richtofen was quick to recognize the origin.

 

The Russian, who used his folded arms for a pillow, hummed, “that is bullet wound, there’s another one on his back.”

“Oh,” he said idly while burying his toes in the sand, pretending he wasn’t looking.

“You shouldn’t comment on it though, he doesn’t like it.”

Edward simply nodded. Long hours in the ER were made all too familiar. Shrapnel and iron burning. He was well adjusted in sensitivity for these matters.

“How have you been feeling?” The writer went on.

“Better... I hadn’t yet apologized for the mess I made in your restaurant,” he spoke genuinely, “I’m very sorry.”

“Is ok. Does that. Happen often?”

“I hope not!” Edward scoffed.

“Being honest, I hope so as well,” Nikolai said lightly, “Tank doesn’t need to be worrying.”

The German silently scolded himself as he backtracked on all progress made with his suspicious friend. Frankly, it hurt; especially when such things were out of his control. 

However, maybe Richtofen spoke too soon.

“Thank you though. He’s been really happy lately, I haven’t seen him like this in a long time. Is nice.”

“I’m not doing anything special. Nothing you wouldn’t do,” he said modestly.

“Oh, but you are. You give him something we could never. For that, I appreciate you.”

Edward blushed. There’s something a little special about appreciation versus thanks. 

 

Nikolai was a good friend.

 

“Will you join them?”

“Ah, no. If that strange..’thing’..happens again, I’d like to be on solid ground.”

The Russian laughed, a relief to find humor in so, “well then. Will you walk with me? I want some seashells for Takeo.”

“That’s very sweet, it’s like you’ve already been married for years.”

“I think so too,” he smiled warmly, “the wedding’s is more for the ceremonies sake. He’s already close to my heart.”

That made sense to the German. After so long together, one would think marriage was arbitrary. Though despite this, Richtofen likewise understood that symbolism was meaningful. The fact that marriage was even an option these days was just so. 

It was often hard to talk to Nikolai, but today, it was nice to bond over a love for love. After all, reading the poetry of the Russian’s youth had shone a romantic soul, one he had admired.

 

The pair soon began their stroll along the shore. Edward did his best to help find the perfect shells for his friend’s art project. Particularly, ones with small holes readily born into their painted forms, ideal for a necklace. The doctor had no idea how this happened in nature, and with such consideration to the curious hands of human beings. 

They all felt silky against grainy fingertips, but strong.

“Sand is millions and millions of years of mineral and shell eroding,” Richtofen sighed, “the fact that these shells were smoothed by forces, and not shattered, shows great resilience.”

“Takeo must be a seashell then!”

“If I may, I think you are more so.”

Nikolai said nothing.

 

Just then, the German found a gleaming conch sticking from the earth. It was smooth and pointed, iridescent in the light; colors of gold and silver, the slight tinge of green from a gliding sun. Far too large for a necklace, he thought, but a handsome gift for someone special.

The writer watched Edward turn the shining object in his hands, “for Dempsey?”

“I think so. Is it too juvenile?”

“I know he’ll love it. If anyone knows ‘juvenile,’ it’s him.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Richtofen chuckled.

 

His friend gazed out to sea, pulling a question seemingly out of nowhere, “...do fish sweat?”

“Excuse me?”

“Do they get hot and sweat underwater? There must be a reason they smell so bad.”

“No. They don’t,” Edward scrunched his brow at the ridiculous theory, “not a fan of seafood?”

“Not really. Then why do they smell?”

“Uh? Mucus? Excretions?”

“Gross.”

“You know, white sand beaches are often made by excretions of Parrotfish.”

The Russian blinked very seriously, “I feel unclean.”

 

\-----

 

When the two Europeans returned with their spoils, the other four were already setting up camp. Raising tents, preparing the grill, making a firepit. Richtofen had never been camping before, but it was exciting to test the waters with good company.

“Doccccc!” Dempsey waved, “what did you find?”

“It’s a secret!” He cheered back, “come!” And the doctor walked along the shore.

Tank did a small half jog to see the gift Edward held in his palms; a glass ornament reflecting the melon skies of sunset. A meaningful trinket whose only purpose was sentiment and tangible evidence that romance was on Richtofen’s mind. The German set it in Dempsey’s hands with great care.

Tank marveled and turned the treasure with calloused hands. Who knew a beach in the Carolina's could produce such a thing. 

“Eddie, it’s beautiful.”

_Footprints washed away with each tide._

“Do you. Want to keep it?”

_Scuttling crabs._

“No way, you found it; it’s too nice.”

_Yawning oysters._

Richtofen only rocked on his heels, “I want you to have it.”

_The light tapping of paws trailing behind._

“...Thanks, Eddie,” Dempsey smiled, and held it to his chest.

Edward beamed a little, pleased with himself. Almost like a cat leaving a dead squirrel on the doorstep, but more romantic and less macabre.

“Does it sing?”

Richtofen tilted his head inquisitively.

Tank rolled his eyes and set the conch against the older man’s ear, “listen. When waves die on the beach, they hide their song inside.”

Hardly true, the doctor thought as he heard the hollow echo, but it was a nice thought. Maybe it was just poetry, or maybe it didn’t matter. 

Dempsey mattered.

 

“It’s kinda cool, it’s two different colors. Just like your eyes.”

Almost automatically, Edward froze. He heard that before. Somewhere made of stones. 

Some antiquated reminder, 

probably still standing. 

Something very far away

Oh, yes, 

Samantha.

 

“Did I say something wrong?””

Richtofen chuckled uncomfortably as he rubbed the back of his neck, “my sister said that when we first met.”

“...That’s a real specific thing to say.” 

“I gave her a gift. If you could call it that,” the German smiled fondly, “a millipede colored just like this shell.”

“Sounds like something you’d do,” Dempsey joked, “I bet she didn’t like it!”

“She actually did! We always loved collecting bugs together.”

“Did you, like, have a little net and stuff?” Tank became amused.

“Yes,” he hummed, “a cage too, but we’d always set them free. It was just a privilege to hold them so close.”

The marine smiled lovingly, “I wish you’d talk about your family more often. You look so happy when you do.”

“I’m doing my best,” Edward shrugged.

The American dipped his toes, “do they not talk to you or something?”

“Ah. No.”

“They go somewhere?”

Richtofen fiddled with his finger tips, and uttered with great hesitation, “No. They’re just. Not with us anymore.”

Tank only scrunched his brow, “you told me that. I mean your adopted family.”

Here, the man could only speak vaguely if he were to continue, “tragic, is it not? To lose two fathers and two mothers?”

There was a distinct crack in the soldier’s voice, “oh my God, Eddie.”

Though, Edward was quick to assure him, “but that was a long time ago. All an accident, too.”

“...and your sister?”

“...”

“I mean, you don’t have to say anything you don’t wanna. I get it.”

“No, it’s. Complicated,” he tried, “or not complicate. Just too sensitive for sunsets...” Quickly, Richtofen shook the anxiety off and spoke with more confidence, “but I will tell you. Eventually. Because I want you to know me, and I loved them.”

Dempsey nodded slowly and thoughtfully. He was touched by the explicit honesty implied by ‘wanting to know one another.’ Likewise, he understood Edward’s hesitation. Even he avoided conversations of his own baggage. 

The marine was left to wonder if it was anger or sadness that held back his friend.

His heart ached at the cruelty of fate. 

And clung to the man’s choice to use the past-tense of love.

 

Still, this wouldn’t matter; the mechanic was ready and willing to listen. Some odd sense of eagerness and curiosity to hear what brought Edward Richtofen here. 

To his joy. 

To new company.

To sadness. 

To loneliness.

 

A place so close and so far from home.

 

“I want you to know me too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this time of year is super busy e-e  
> Hope everyone had a great Christmas, and happy new year!


	23. As The Crow Flies VI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last fleeting memories of summer.  
> The telling of stories and the beginning of a new one!

Smoked barbecue, chips, juice; all were set on a table as the group served themselves for dinner. The firepit rested between a circle of folded chairs, and was lit with the coming of a dusk sky.

Who knew wading in shallow waves could make one so hungry? Even Edward purposefully served himself a large plate, still thinking how self conscious he was about his weight. Nikolai seemed to notice, and flashed a subtle thumbs up that drew no attention. The doctor appreciated the support.

“Dempsey, you should have brought your guitar,” Takeo spoke politely between bites.

“Nah, I don’t want to be ‘that guy’ at the party.”

“What kind of music do you play?” Richtofen asked excitedly.

“Anything. I ain’t picky.”

“He writes his own songs, ya know,” Misty pitched in, trying to make her friend look better to his crush.

“Nothing special though,” he scratched modestly, “just some old fashioned stuff.”

“Hm, you did always crossed me as a poet,” Edward said, amused.

“He’s even writing something for Tak and Nik’s wedding!”

“Ugh, can everyone lay off?” Tank was getting embarrassed, “didn’t you say you brought a telescope, Eddie?”

“I’ve never used one,” Jessica finally spoke, “you should bring it out.”

Richtofen Dug his heels into the sand shly, before going to the van and pulling a large canvas bag and tripod. He assembled the mysterious contraption wordlessly as the others continued their menial chatter. Matters like the news of the day, or theories on their town’s murder mystery. However, nothing with particular seriousness.

 

“The telescope is ready. Be careful though, it’s very fragile.”

 

The group took turns peering into the device, swivelling between stars and planets and galaxies. Edward felt endowed with a tiny sense of importance among the excited musings of his friends. As though he finally had something good to offer. That he was more than just a lonely man with enough baggage to satisfy an entire airport. Richtofen loved people, and stars, and bugs, and quiet mornings, and Dempsey, and drawing, and so much more.

 

“Do they have any stories?” Takeo asked the German.

“Some of them.”

“Any good?” Dempsey wondered.

“Let’s see… this one,” Edward hummed as he adjusted the scope, “It forms a constellation like a sprout: a memorial of a man who died twice.”

Nikolai frowned, “impossible.”

“Well, it’s just a story. A man was crossing the mountains with his wife when they both came upon a bridge. Naturally, it was very old; so therefore, the husband offered to cross first. It was a good thing too, because the bridge ended up collapsing, and he fell hundreds of feet into the gorge.”

“How on earth-“ The Russian almost started, but was hushed by his fiance.

Richtofen continued lowly, “his wife rushed down to the chasm where he had fallen, but when she arrived, her husband was standing as if nothing happened,” he soon shifted to a tone of whimsey, “However, he was essentially a zombie: non-responsive, a hollow stare, catatonic….But even so, his wife was happy that her husband was alive.”

Misty squinted, “that doesn’t even make.”

“There’s still more. The two walked the remainder of their journey on the shady lowlands; all until they reached their destination, a village on a hilltop. Although, just a few moments after her husband stepped into the sun, he stilled. Completely frozen. Nothing she could do could get him to move, so she went to the village for help. It remained futile in the end, he would not move even from the strongest’s efforts.” 

Only now did Takeo become fully invested as Edward went on, “Suddenly, vines began sprouting from his greyed pours at a flowering, pace. Twisting and twirling tendrils that came like hair from follicles. Then, they all left the husband’s body to root themselves in the earth, and the man dropped dead.”

“Oh, so something used his body to get to the sunlight. Otherwise it wouldn’t live staying in the dark gorge,” Jessica lit up.

“Precisely.”

“What happened to the roots?”

“They grew into a tree tall enough to reach the stars above, and the wife lived the rest of her years in that village to protect it.”

“That’s sweet,” she nodded.

“That’s depressing!” Nikolai interjected. The dichotomy in their ideas of romance were interesting at the very least.

 

“Any more?” Dempsey leaned.

“Uh…. here. This blue-ish one. It represents an ancient breed of wolves, whose pelts were so silver they could reflect the heavens.”

“What’s the story on that?”

“It’s said that the pack leader howled so loud it shattered the moon, and day by day the form would chip away until the moon vanished. The leader took responsibility and spent the month rebuilding it, only to howl and break it apart again. Therefore, it became honorbound to build and rebuild it’s undoing,” Richtofen soon added with amusement, “the false belief that wolves howl at the moon come from the pack singing their leader’s fate.”

“Wolves don’t howl at the moon?” Jessica was in disbelief.

“No, coyotes will.”

“Why didn’t the leader just stop howling?” Dempsey tried.

“I don’t know. Howling is what wolves do.”

“I guess.”

 

Edward spent the rest of the night spinning tales of the stars; like that of an escapist that could find a way out of any trap, even death. Not only this, but the story of a woman who became so jaded by the sky, that she turned her back on the sun and traveled down into the earth to never return. 

They all had enjoyed it, particularly Jessica, to the doctor’s relief. It did well in improving their uncomfortable relationship.

 

Still, as the night wore on, there finally came the time to sleep. Everyone had exhausted themselves with songs and stories.

Naturally, the group brought tents of their own. As for Edward, however, he was offered rest in the back of Takeo’s van. Here, he could keep the doors open and look out to sea, as well as avoid getting sand in his hair if he were to roll around. The doctor was thankful regardless, as he obviously did not own a tent himself. He had no reason to, either. 

Still, Edward was still Edward, and there was no way he could fall asleep outside. Too many noises, too uncertain of whatever lurked nearby. ‘Perhaps,’ the man thought as he pulled the sketchbook to busy himself, ‘we need someone to keep watch anyway.’

Richtofen began to sketch out his memories for the day.

 

A couple meters away, Dempsey found himself restless.

The soldier was satisfied after such a wonderful day with his friends, and felt successful in keeping himself far away from the illusions of explosions. Yet, sleep would not join him. Daisy, meanwhile, was quick to pass out from a long day of running and play.

Part of it all was Tank’s fear of having a night terror in the company of his closest friends. He never knew how those looked in reality; thrashing, sleepwalking the desert of his past, stray tears he could not control. Needless to say, the mechanic was not interested in exposing such a fragile part of himself.

An even bigger factor to keep the spiraling Dempsey from resting was Peter. Only a year ago did the two share a tent on this same night. Not as peaceful as one would think, because even then, his partner was cruel and unforgiving. Commanding him through the day as though he were a dog, having Tank satiate venereal needs like he were winning a war, spending the remaining night acting as though everything were fine.

It made him feel sick. 

It made him feel unclean.

His stomach turned over and over, until he finally slunk out from his tent, making certain he didn’t wake his Daisy. She had a long day anyway.

 

Dempsey sauntered against the shore, toes digging into cool sand and staring to the reflecting moon that turned water into a sparkling silver. How he would love to simply surrender himself to the ocean, and become weightless under the blanket of waves. The surface always looked turbulent and changing, but underneath, the soldier knew that the world of coral and seafloor appeared completely still. That would have been nice right now.

Even in the distance, a far off island sailed into the fog of midnight. Not once in all his years making the pilgrimage out to the beach; did he realize the shaded silhouette on the waves, but here and now, it was strangely calming.

 

After some time, Tank plopped into the sand, and fell back into the bed that once held footprints dashing across the coast. Here and there. Up and down. 

The mechanic didn’t truly want to die, he resolved as he shut his eyes. In the end, death was a permanent solution to a temporary problem (something he often heard Doctor Monty say.) Life held far too much excitement to leave now. It was the height of the party, so to say.

 

He had friends, he had a potential suitor. 

He had new songs to write and a bed to share. 

The graveyard in his head was gated off from the real world.

Things would be ok. 

 

Suddenly, a voice sounded from behind, and Dempsey sprung from his place in the sand. How relieved he was to find Edward standing besides him.

“There was a study done, not too far in the past,” he spoke carefully and avoided eye contact, “simply put: they placed a rat in a cage with two drinking bottles. One with water, and another with morphine.”

“...”

“As one would think, the rat took the drugs until it died. However, the researcher realized there was no stimulation or socialization for the creature. It was alone and without purpose other than to take the opiates.”

“...”

The German sat beside his companion, “so: he made a special utopia. A paradise if you will, where many rats lived together. Toys, company, food, puzzles. It was perfect, and the scientist placed the two bottles once again.”

“...did they take the drugs?” Dempsey asked in a whisper.

“Perhaps once or twice, but seldom with great frequency, and never to the point of overdose,” Richtofen uttered before turning to the soldier, “Do you understand what I’m trying to say?”

“...yeah.”

“If that rat had different circumstances, it would have never overdosed. However, the circumstances at hand were out of his control. No will besides that of his ‘creator’ so to speak.”

“...what if one of the rats tried to help, but failed to make him- I mean ‘it’, happy? Wouldn’t that make it his fault for not trying hard enough? Even a little?”

“...Perhaps it was too late, or no effort on the addicted rat’s part, or some genetic predisposition,” the doctor theorized, “Perhaps none of the above. In the end, it’s no ones fault, only a society that punishes those that need help the most. Those kind of people have trouble changing even if they wanted to.”

Tank gazed down thoughtfully. He hated that the problem still clung to his chest, but loved that the object of his affection wanted to show support in his own special way.

Richtofen always knew the right thing to say. 

For this, Dempsey would always be jealous.

“Thanks, Eddie.”

“It’s just an old research paper. Though, not to be confused with a different rat utopia experiment, where they built a perfect and free civilization that grew and grew until the collapse of civilization.”

“You’re smart as hell,” he chuckled as he leaned back.

“Perhaps. Or perhaps I just read a lot,” Edward said modestly.

“I bet you’re a short ways away from being cocky about it. Maybe if you were less shy,” the Marine smirked.

He mirrored the expression, “believe me, I can certainly hold some intellectual pride. Just be grateful you haven’t had the pleasure of witnessing it. It’s quite annoying.”

 

All in good intentions, it indeed seemed both potential and interesting. The two scooted together closer as they meditated on the sound of the lazy tide.

 

“Is it true?” the German spoke again suddenly, “that you loved Peter?”

“Of course,” Dempsey hesitated.

“I mean romantically.”

“Where exactly did you hear that?”

“Misty.”

Tank silently cursed his old friend. The farm girl knew damn well what she was doing, and frankly he was annoyed by the way she took matters into her own hands.

“I did,” he sighed.

“Did? Do you still not?”

“Nah. Things change.”

“What sorts of things?” Edward pondered.

“....why are you interested?”

“I’ve never known him myself. I want to, since he was so important to you. I know you still grieve.”

“Yeah, well, he started taking his damage out on me. A little too much alcohol stole his ambition, and then he became a stranger.”

Edward heard the shrouded heartache, but pretended he didn’t.

“And then that stranger started taking advantage of me. Made me feel like nothing. So after I stopped laying down and taking it for years, I finally told him to piss off. Then he died, the end.”

Richtofen spoke with reluctance, “If I may be honest, I'm beginning to dislike him. Why grieve?”

“Because I still remember who he used to be.”

Truly, with great understanding, the man accepted this truth for all it was. How he wished to make his friend’s trauma fade. He wasn’t that kind of doctor though.

 

Dempsey slowly laced his fingers around Edward’s, “to be honest, I mostly keep thinking about you these days.”

“Any grand revelations?” The doctor hummed lightly as he focused on the warmth shared.

“Nah. I already know what I know.”

“I confess I’ve been thinking about you as well,” he mumbled, “how I feel to be precise.”

The marine’s heart fluttered at the thought, so he blushed, “I think I like you. A lot.” 

Tank soon paused very carefully, before nodding with more assurance, “actually, I’m positive. That I like you, I mean.”

Though this had been thoroughly implied over the months, as well as clearly known among all forced to witness the ridiculous displays of affection, Richtofen was still excited to hear his ‘friend’ actually say it. The shy man wouldn’t mind throwing himself from one of the conveniently close cliffsides. Especially if he could shake God’s hand and thank him for the excitement endowed by Dempsey’s confession. 

 

...Though, as greedy as it was, Edward wanted to hear more.

 

“How do you mean?” 

The younger man let his palms glide from the tangled hand, and gripped possessively onto Richtofen’s thigh. Yet, nerves shook the anxious heart. 

Like swallowing a spoon of honey, thick and sweet in his throat, the tempting reflex to vomit as Tank gulped, “I guess the easiest way to say it is: romantically.”

 

Yeah, jumping off that cliff looked great just about now.

 

“I dunno, it’s just. Everyone thinks because I’m a little rowdy, or I’m some tough marine, that it’s impossible for a guy like me to… go through certain things,” Dempsey spoke vaguely and with great effort, “but it’s like you know what I need. Because you need it too.”

“And what exactly is that?”

“Someone to make you safe? To tell you you’re not broken, to understand, to..love,” he sighed, “I dunno. You make me real brave. That’s all.”

“...love does not make suffering disappear.”

“I know, but it makes it easier to deal. Knowing someone loves you the way they couldn’t love anyone else.”

Edward was still unsure, “...neither will love make it any easier to stay around me. You're often worrisome, and I’d hate to be another obligation that drains you of your own happiness.”

“Knowing you’re safe is my happiness. I just worry because I can’t make every struggle go away.”

“I’m not a car, Dempsey,” the German smiled with melancholy, “you don’t need to fix me, nor would I ask you to.”

“I just want to be closer to you, and not feel weird about us kissing or whatever. I don’t want to fix you, I want to support you, I want to spend time with you…” the younger man trailed off for a moment, “I guess you could say you’re my rat paradise.” 

To this, Richtofen doubled over into a playful fit of laughter.

“Ok, that sounded way more romantic in my head,” Dempsey scratched the back of his neck in embarrassment.

“But you know what I think?,” Tank soon smirked, “I think you like me too.”

“Is it not painfully obvious?” Edward continued to giggle, “you’re strong, yet your touch is gentle. Energetic, but at ease. Troubled, but you don’t let it turn you jaded,” he breathed with subtle joy, “there’s some sort of assurance in the balance of your dichotomies that makes me very, uh, fond of you.”

 

Damn. Tank was red as a tomato, uncertain how to compete with such a genuine and heart-warming observation, so he tried, “plus, I mean, the moment I met you I thought you were mega hot, too.”

Edward burst into laughter once again, “oh, please!”

“It’s true! Honest!”

“I’m a lot of things, but ‘hot’ is not one of them!”

Dempsey leaned with with a sneaky grin on his face, “how about beautiful?”

Richtofen shoved him away, “Come now, I don’t want to hear it!”

The Marine leaned even closer to Edward, and caressed his face with precision. Tilting it every which way with delicate care. His eyes were softened from one of exuberance to one of sincerity. His voice low and comforting. Like drinking warm soup. All accompanied by a subtle kindness in his smile.

“You’re beautiful, Doc.”

Richtofen gasped at this seriousness, and cast his gaze away, “P. Please. I already like you. I don’t need lies.”

“I ain’t lying,” Tank frowned.

The taller man simply scoffed. However, this only made the soldier want, or rather need, to prove himself. 

 

Methodically, Dempsey pressed gentle pecks across the older man’s face. Dusting imaginary freckles across eyelids and cheeks. Still holding the stark jawline in hand. He wanted to focus on every little detail. Perfect through imperfections, a tessellating piece to himself.

“So beautiful, so beautiful,” the marine sighed a song as he carried the kisses to the man’s neck.

Edward tried desperately to hold back tears. It was nearly impossible to accept that someone could love him as he was. That could love a crooked creature like himself.

 

The German cupped Tank’s face, and pulled him in front of his own with worrisome desperation, “Dempsey, please. Don’t say things like that.”

The man made no response to the plea, and tilted his head to press a kiss upon those tantalizing lips.

Richtofen couldn’t help but kiss back, and began to cradle the mechanic’s head; pulling away once or twice to breathe warmly between the empty spaces. 

The two let their eyes rest shut as one another were encouraged to let the moment last forever. 

 

Salty tears finally fell in small reluctant drops as Edward whispered, “why do you do this to me?”

“You made me brave, remember? Because that’s what you do. And I want to give back the same happiness you gave me.”

The taller man let his lips ghost over Tank’s, “I’m already happy, Dempsey.”

 

The American wanted to be closer, to feel closer. He set Edward’s back against the sand to lean over and deepen the exchange. Not only this, but he straddled his doctor’s stomach to assert his passion by means of restraint.

The two continued in ecstasy as Dempsey held one of the man’s palms, lacing their fingertips all the while. Then, as Tank did so, his other hand passed through Richtofen’s hair, and he began to message and tug at the short tresses.

If Dempsey’s tongue were a font, it would be cursive. The way he wove himself into his lover. A complicated script to those with an untrained eye. Words that only Richtofen could translate. The German’s headspace was quiet, and he focused on the typography accented by the smells of smoky foods and cheap beer.

Edward had surrendered completely when the mechanic breathed, “then I want you to be happy forever.”

“Prolonged happiness isn’t possible, nor healthy. Even with someone so perfect.”

“Then I’ll be sad with you, too.”

 

This time, Edward would not forsake the opportunity granted by the claustrophobic proximity. He passed his hand under Tank’s shirt, and across his stomach in clinging motions. Sliding them anywhere he could reach. Gripping tight skin here and there. 

The Marine seemed to appreciate this with a low sound of approval. 

Richtofen became surprised that Tank even let him trace the bullet wounds that remained. Soft and smooth, thick and prominent. Although, there was complete silence as he did so. No sounds besides those needy cries left from the French exchange.

 

Tank moved to Richtofen’s fragile neck once again. He knew very well how much this excited his friend, he knew very well of this weak spot. This came to be validated quickly, as the German whined with the craning of his heron’s throat, throwing his arms over the man’s shoulders. Whenever Dempsey added a little more bite, or let is tongue run a bit longer across the peppery skin, or sucked into the sensitive collarbone, Edward would tighten his grip and arch even closer. 

Even as Tank slid his own rough digits up Edward’s buttoned shirt, he wouldn’t protest. Fingertips outlined the awkward flesh; every scar, every bone, every goosebump. Tender and experimental. An exploration the doctor seldom allowed. Longing exposed as Dempsey dug short nails into the hungry skin. Possessive grabbing of loose tops. Marks sucked into a thick throat. Little noises from the two that voiced desire; for more, for less, for air, to suffocate. 

Richtofen shivered and pulled away slightly.

“S. Sorry,” he muttered sadly.

“For what?” 

“I have scars.”

“I do too,” Tank said delicately, and resumed pecking kisses onto the tear-ridden face.

“They’re not like yours,” the older man frowned.

“Those are just... what’s left of who you used to be. I’m not bothered.”

Edward tried pathetically, “but they’re frightening.”

“I can’t say they don’t make me hurt,” Dempsey confessed, “but stupid quick-fixes for complicated feelings? That’s a part of learning to deal. I can tell they’re all old, because you learned it wasn’t dealing. It was making things worse.”

God damn did that cut Richtofen deep. For the American to not fear him, for him to empathize so easily, to trust that Edward wouldn’t do something like that again. Every bit of Tank’s intentions were voiced in the poetry uttered. Words of love, compassion, experience. 

Dempsey always knew the right thing to say. 

For this, Richtofen would always be jealous.

 

At last, Tank pulled off of the undone mess beneath him, "...Hey Eddie? What are we doing?"

Edward lifted his lids to see Dempsey with a look he rarely saw. One that lacked his usual spark, and inspired feelings of solemn and serious needs. The taller man attempted to gaze into those steely-blue eyes, but couldn't hold this look for long. 

The pair sat up carefully, with the doctor straddling Tank’s lap.

"What. What do you mean?" Richtofen muttered quietly.

"...you know exactly what I mean." 

The German's breath hitched. He did indeed know. The flirtations became more and more obvious with each passing day, and Edward wondered if he had finally broken the object of his affection. 

...Frankly, he preferred to lose this friendship if they could never know each other in more intimate ways. There was no way they could ever 'just be friends.' It would be hard to weather such a storm of emotions if they continued to share their company.

 

Richtofen gulped, "I do. But what of it?"

Dempsey leaned closer with no answer, hovering over his lover’s lips, “ya know, in places like this, being forward is dangerous. But I’m being forward now. With you. This ain’t any watered-down beer talking neither.”

A tear ran down from those borealis eyes, and Tank wiped it away with a thumb, before leaning into another kiss. A confession of no words. Edward returned eagerly, made emotional by the only one to show such tender affection in literal months. In fact, he too whispered foreign confessions into the ears he would occasionally nibble. Small sentiments he wasn’t quite ready to share in English. 

 

The two finally broke apart to catch their breath, huffing warmly at the space between them. The soldier remained just inches from Richtofen’s face, resting on his elbows.

"Dempsey I. I don't want to hurt you," the man sighed as he pressed their brows together.

"Why do you think you'll hurt me?" he whispered.

Deeply pained, Edward answered, "I'm sick and you know it. I will cause you nothing but trouble." 

As if speaking by experience, as if he held this in his throat.

"Well," Tank tilted Richtofen's head up by his chin, "I'm sick too, and I love trouble. So, who says we don’t deserve love for that stuff?”

 

The pair heard a whooping interruption from across the beach and near the van as Misty shouted, “HELL YEA! GET IT, TANK!” 

Her girlfriend seemed to slap her upside the head.

 

Edward chuckled with a goofy smile, tears now long gone. 

How he loved, how he loved.

Dempsey kissed him again, holding his shy smile in the crook of Richtofen’s neck. And again. And again.

"I want us to be closer." the American hummed.

And again.

"Are you certain?"

And again.

"As long as you want me too."

And again.

 

The warmth between seemed to spark the bonfire brighter, and the cool fall ahead seemed less chilling.

 

Far away, the distant island floated away with the rising sun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy new year! Starting 2019 off by ending summer and bringing on the fall.  
> At last, Tank and Edward are together. Feels like I'm competing with myself to make each chapter gayer and gayer. That's fine though, gay love is the best love there is.


	24. Hymn and Her

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fall is here, and Richtofen basically gets adopted by Shadowman and Monty.

Edward’s eyes burned angry holes into Doctor Monty’s chest. So much fire that his body thought crying would douse the flame, but it only made the German more bitter.

“Rough week?” The older man wondered cluelessly.

“You..you,” Richtofen attempted to form a threat, but instead spat, “I’ve had it with that stupid cat of yours.”

“I don’t have a cat, Richtofen.”

“YES you do! I’ve seen your husband with it. Because of you-“ he stopped abruptly, an attempt to calm himself. 

He instead began to tremble.

 

It had been several weeks since summer made its swift retreat. The mountain air drifted down into the valley these days; a gentle rhythm to the sounds of acorns crunching underfoot. The people of the small town seemed to be in lifted spirits as well, all relieved by the homey comfort of sweaters and hot drinks.   
The vibrant browns and orange of a real North Eastern autumn followed suit; almost as though dusted by pumpkin spice and cinnamon. Not unlikely, as the aroma likewise peppered the bakeries downtown. 

The fluttering of life in the wood, readily preparing for a far off winter. 

Leaves falling like the discarded wings of butterflies. 

Even the skies were painted pink and purple by early sunsets.

 

The modest beauty made Edward interpret the season as earth’s swan song, its last beautiful sigh before the barren silence of winter.

However, the thing about fall, is the humbling death which accompanied it. Butterflies would pass on, the flowers would retreat to their bed of soil after shedding their blooms, and, as things seemed, birds would pass as well.

 

_That damned cat._

 

Doctor Monty finally nodded as he came to understanding, “ah, yes. Enoch. I despise cats, so Alistair keeps it at the church. That fucking demon has a mind of its own.”

“I don’t care! That cat killed my hatchlings!” He shouted through tears, “the beast is always sneaking into my house, but this morning I came home to a scene of. Of. Blood and viscera!” 

Monty didn’t have much of a reaction, however, compassion was instead heard in the accented voice, “did the crows mean a lot to you?”

The German mumbled pathetically, “they were doing so well.. almost ready to fly. I thought they would be safe with me.”

“Shit. I’m so sorry, Edward.”

Richtofen sneered, “that won’t bring them back. Nor will it remove the bloodstains from my rug…. or help me find my one heirloom.”

“You’ve lost your knife too?”

“Yes, that terrible creature left behind quite a mess in my room, and I couldn’t find it anywhere,” he sighed.

“How the hell did it get in?” 

“The window was open. I was certain I locked everything, too.”

The old man frowned and justified his loathing, “cats love to hunt for sport more often than not. It’s hardly dignified to kill without reason.”

“It didn’t even eat them,” Edward uttered, despondent, and soon bent over his knees to hide his face, “why does everyone I love get hurt. I must be cursed; some bad joke from our creator.”

“I thought you said things were doing quite well with Dempsey.”

“Things are wonderful with Dempsey, thank you,” he asserted while he still held his head low.

 

This, at least, was happily true. To Edward, Tank was everything. The German’s time off allowed the two to share their lives. This meaning: accompanying his boyfriend to the auto shop, napping on the couch together, and taking Daisy to the park. So much happiness in small mundane existence.

Even moments of sadness were wrapped in warm blankets, rather it be on Dempsey or Edward’s account. It was nice to have one’s closest confidant also be one’s lover. Sharing secrets with the power to destroy, but knowing the other had no desire to.

To be honest, Richtofen still had a hard time believing this was reality. Foreign words such as boyfriend, or lover, coated his tongue in sugar. Feeling needed was freshly baked bread. To love and be loved, to have a reason to pull through the day; especially if it meant the couple could share those still-awkward touches and excited kisses by the end of it.

 

Monty became amused as he connected the dots, “Ah, is that where you were last night?” 

Edward shot from his crumpled posture and blushed, “make no assumptions. We just had dinner and watched movies.”

“No, no,” the psychiatrist laughed, “I’m happy for you, really!”

Richtofen cleared his throat, still thoroughly embarrassed, “whatever the case, I’m just generalizing out of spite... Although, It’s only a matter of time, I fear.”

“Until what exactly?”

“Until he gets hurt too. I appear to kill anything that gets too close to me.”

The older man crossed his arms, “I think that’s overdramatic, don’t you? You couldn’t predict leaving the damn window open.”

“It’s not being over dramatic. I am an omen. I am death. My family, my sister, the birds, fluffy...it’s always because of me.”

“Your family? Why do you say that,” Monty scrunched his brow.

“If I knew how to act normal they would still be alive.”

“Unless you yourself drained their fucking lifeblood, I have a hard time believing that.”

Flatly, Edward growled, “it was always my fault. I know this.”

He then sighed before lamenting, “how I’ve tried, how I’ve tried. How I’ve tried to convince this shattered teacup of a brain that it’s all paranoia. That this is depression trying to direct blame for every painful thing I’ve endured. That this is just because I’m ‘like this.’”.

“...Have you talked to Tank about your family?”

“Vaguely. He knows nothing that you don’t,” though, he added with more hope, “but I’m trying. I trust him.”

“...And you think you’ll kill Dempsey next?”

“Yes,” he exhaled deeply, “if not in a literal sense, then my worsening condition will push him away.”

Surprised, Monty jolted, “you’re still sick? Why haven’t you told me?”

Richtofen shrugged, “there’s been nothing new in terms of symptoms to share.” 

 

Edward refrained from disclosing his ongoing experiments with the river, or that he often lost time, or even that the German armed himself in the night for fear of intruders. All he needed was to be considered dangerously psychotic, and then he would have no more say in his own treatment. He would be ‘too disillusioned’ to speak for himself.

 

How he hated the thought of being treated in such a way.

 

“You told me about that short ‘seizure’ in the diner some time ago. Has that happened again?”

“Yes, but thank heavens not in the public eye, and only once in front of Dempsey,” the doctor breathed lowly, “I don’t know what I should do. I feel as though I’m losing myself.”

“...Perhaps it’s time you saw a doctor. Seizures are serious business.”

“The fall semester starts tomorrow, I can’t call out sick on the first day.”

Monty reclined, “well, at least e-mail me if anything changes. Good or bad. We don’t want you running around blindly when this town has a body count worse than a slaughterhouse.”

“I can’t imagine why someone would hurt me. I am still a stranger to most,” he frowned.

“But someone cut your brakes when you first arrived, too. I’m simply asking that you be wary.”

Edward rubbed the bridge of his nose, “yes, I suppose you’re right. Besides, these grotesque bodies seem to be random selections. Nothing in common; everyone is at risk these days.”

The psychiatrist seemed particularly worried, “I mean it, Richtofen. We’re coming up on the sixth corpse in almost four months, and I enjoy your company too much to see you in a casket, or even worse, that-”

Richtofen’s breath stilled as he was able to understand before the words left his doctor’s lips, “...that someone suspects me.”

 

\------

 

Over and over, Edward let his head rhythmically thud against his steering wheel. Just when Richtofen thought he was getting himself back together, another thing came along to steamroll all he had worked for. Why hadn’t he thought of that, the man lamented, how terribly suspicious he seemed. No wonder why he felt so unwelcome. Arriving just as these murders began, wandering the woods at night, throwing fits in breakfast diners, blindly walking the streets of town... 

The German wanted to throw himself to the birds. He considered himself better useful as a meal to some vulture than the fear he appeared to induce.

How on earth these strangers crafted their theories on motive, the doctor had no idea. Even he himself had no idea why he would do such a thing.

 

Edward looked to the church as he drove, finding Alistair standing out front as he usually would. There was no chance the doctor would allow this man to get off scot-free; he was in far too much of a bad mood to allow forgiveness. He needed to avenge his children. 

Therefore, in one swift motion, Richtofen hit the brakes and climbed out, slamming the car door behind him. The old man, meanwhile, watched the intense approach. Expressionless and calm. A posture that spoke ‘what do you want’ as he ashed his cigar. 

 

...However, he quickly realized that it was he Edward was after. 

 

Alarmed and wide-eyed, Alistair dropped the tobacco with haste, and sped behind the doors of his haven. Cartoonishly so.

The Louisiana spectre must have been holding the entrance shut, because Richtofen could not open as he pushed harder and harder against the splintering wood.

This, of course, did not stop the German as he banged his fist against the oak, “get out here you coward! You Goddamn bastard!”

A few pedestrians were frightened as they cleared the area. It probably wasn’t a good look to be yelling at a pastor with such anger, especially considering the circumstances of his suspicion. Still, he truly felt like a father to the clutch of fledglings. He was heartbroken above all else. He wanted revenge.

“Don’t pretend you can’t hear me! I told you to keep that damned cat inside!” He continued to call.

 

What Richtofen didn’t know, was that the old man was quite scared from the other side. Even with the disrespect Alistair constantly showed, the pastor had no idea what Edward was capable of. Though, this was purely ignorance. It wasn’t as if someone so sickly looked like he could do much.

However, the preacher felt like he had to say something as he heard his ‘guest’ shout:

“It made a mess of my room and killed my birds for sport! My home is becoming a pet cemetery because of you!”

Suddenly, there was a low voice from behind the wall, “s. Sorry.”

Richtofen stopped his incessant banging with interest and shock, “...excuse me?”

“I am very sorry. Enoch was born feral, she always slips out.”

The doctor only blinked. Alistair sounded sincerely regretful in his apology, even well-meaning in doing so. Yet, despite this, it was more confusing than it was a relief.

Edward stepped away from the doors to ease his towering presence, and frowned, “I loved those birds, you know.”

After a long moment of silence and reflection, the Louisiana cadence rang softly once again, “what kind of birds were they?”

His tone leveled as he calmed his paternal resentment, “Young crows. They were orphaned in my yard, but I now suspect that beast of yours killed their parents as well.”

“I am sorry,” the pastor said again with more melancholy.

Richtofen sighed with a heavy heart, and finally asked what preyed on his mind for so long, “why do you have such a problem with me?”

There was silence as the doors slowly opened, and Alistair peaked out, “what you said a couple weeks ago. You were right. You’ve done nothing wrong to me.”

He stepped out and adjusted his three piece suit, composing himself into his more dignified self once again.

The man soon cleared his throat before confessing, “the truth is that you reminded me of someone. I became bitter by the memories attached. Defensive, even… I wasn’t considering reality above all else.”

 

This interaction became more and more puzzling with every answered question. The last thing Edward expected was genuine regret, especially done with such a calm disposition. 

Not to mention he had no idea who Alistair was talking about.

There was something odd about the pastor’s voice; it carried a melodic and soft tone despite the energy which he spoke. The doctor wondered how his sermons sounded, but then again, it was not difficult to picture the regal cadence reading words of salvation and sin. One would think it to be the voice of a trickster or a liar, but Richtofen saw it more as the voice of a man who seldom spoke in casual company. This, the German could resonate with. 

...However, his own inexperience instead carried a veil of cocky energy to hide the more anxious self.

 

Even so, it was just as curious that Alistair’s non-verbal threats were that of mourning.

 

Edward only muttered, “I… see.”

 

As the two stood awkwardly before one another, the sound of a practicing choir echoed from inside the chapel. Lyrics which sang of wrath and forgiveness in an extinct tonge. An instrumental flow which sounded akin to a great wave crashing, then ebbing away for its next return. 

Like that of falling,

and spiraling. 

Then landing softly.

A gentle plea of one who knows their place beneath a lord on high.

 

“Um. Is that Dies Irae?”

“You know it?” the old man’s interest was peaked.

“Sort of.”

Alistair eased his stiff spine, “this song was one of the first pieces of recorded music. Though it began as a hymn, it was later adapted into more sacreligious pieces. You’re probably familiar with Mozart’s rendition.”

Edward nodded, “ah, yes, ‘Judgement day.’ A bit frightening though, isn’t it? To turn it back to its roots?”

The pastor hesitated, “I’ve come to appreciate the conversion of terror and fear into piety and righteous violence these days.”

“Perhaps I could as well,” he hummed. 

The man returned with a softened smile, “I can’t help but pick where my passion leads for the week.”

 

“If I may,” Alistair soon continued, “I noticed you carrying a telescope the other day. Do you watch the stars?”

“I do, a fellow astronomer?” Edward spoke with curiosity.

“Indeed, I map them out myself. It’s quite calming.”

“Really? There are already many star maps you could reference.”

The old man sighed humbly, “I know, but I’d like to find a new star one day.”

“What will you do once you’ve found it?”

“I don’t know, but maybe someone else will.”

“I myself enjoy learning their stories. It’s interesting to understand the abstract shapes that inspired our ancestors.”

 

Alistair held a long pause before confessing with regret, “...to be honest, I think I’ve needed to speak with you for the longest time.”

“Need?”

“Need. I understand if you still want to be left alone, especially for how I’ve treated you, but I’d love if you come by once in a while. Perhaps you could share some of those stories you’ve learned.”

“Are you trying to turn me into a christian?” The doctor joked.

The louisiana ghost chuckled, “no, but I make no promises about avoiding the subject.”

“Whatever the case, I’d love to join you sometime. A man who enjoys stargazing can’t be all bad.”

“I apologize again. About your birds. And my behavior. If there’s anything I can do-”

“This person I remind you of. What were they to you?”

“Someone I cared about,” he said simply, “but if it’s no trouble, I would rather we start fresh then dwell.”

The German presented his hand, “Then: Doctor Edward Richtofen.”

“Reverend Alistair Rapt.”

 

The two politely nodded their goodbyes, and went their separate ways.

 

Today, the church sign read, ‘as iron sharpens iron...’ 

 

Richtofen didn’t understand the reference.

 

\------

 

The doctor finally stretched out as he arrived home, excited to see Dempsey after his shift at the garage. However, there were a few matters that needed managing; namely Fluffy. 

It seemed as though she would have company in the garden, as he planned on visiting Albert to get a coffin for his dear crows. It was a kinder sentiment if he thought of the tragedy like this. A pet cemetery didn’t have to be anything depressing or tragic. It could be a place of reflection and love, and he did indeed love.

 

As he looked to the kitchen counter, he found the familiar tin set next to the stain-glass box, and with an exasperated sigh, resolved to stop avoiding it. 

 

Edward rolled up his sleeves and moved over the sink, so to pour the contents without spilling.

 

He didn’t need to read the letters, he didn’t need to hold the collar, he didn’t need to think too hard about it.

 

Just dust and shards of bone.

Nothing he hadn’t seen before.

(He probably shouldn’t use that expression in front of others though.)

 

Popping open the former casket, he immediately found himself smiling. The sight of the weathered old collar actually made him happy. Its torn red leather, the tags that would jingle as she walked, the flower-shaped hair clips he and Sam attached as accessories. The man almost swore he could hear the clicking of metal that rang the hound’s approach.

Richtofen nearly wished he had opened it sooner. Once expecting despair, he now felt warmth for the fond memories. He chuckled happily as he unearthed it gingerly from ashes of the past, turning it in his hands.

“I’m so sorry,” he said gently.

 

It was a secret he kept from his family. That day he shared a peach with Fluffy, a late spring, a gesture to please her. Edward didn’t expect the old girl to down the entire fruit, nor did he consider the size of the peach-pit. 

Still, the boy did his best to save her, or at least he often convinced himself so. Edward tried reaching into her gasping mouth to pull the seed, tried heaving it from her trembling gut, tired shaking it loose from the broken form. However, the German was still so young and ignorant. All efforts were in vain, and she suffocated.

He ran upstairs to his family, and claimed to have found her that way. Everyone believed him without a second guess. She was very old after all; it wouldn’t be outrageous to assume she crawled outside to die in the garden, among flowers and fluttering sunlight.

Though, as the ashes were burned, and the box was presented, and the memory buried, he still could smell peach. 

Sweet under a bruised sky,

A heart of stone in soft skin,

A perfume for untimely death.

 

It took Richtofen the longest time to enjoy the taste of peaches. Even plum, even avocado; anything that reminded him of the horrible accident.

He now wished he could confess the truth to his family, but that was no longer possible.

 

Despite this, it was at least nice that he was more preoccupied with the better memories. Cold noses, playing tag, dog-piles of sleep. 

Edward loved her.

 

Richtofen set the collar down, and again reached into the tin to retrieve two sealed letters; he and Samantha’s epitaph for Fluffy. However, as he did so, a sudden stinging pain shot through his skull, like a needle threading itself into one ear and out the other. (Only, the needle had been dipped in poison which would flower from the wound.)

The man abruptly flinched at the pain which brought tears, pulling the envelopes far too quickly. His eyes screwed shut as he gripped his pulsing skull, and he immediately crouched to his knees. Almost like an armadillo balling up at the sight of a predator. 

Meanwhile, he heard the old casket clang as it tumbled over into the sink, spilling dust and bone into the steel trap. Richtofen did not hold this pose for long, as he frantically scrambled back up to the counter. Tears still fell as he read the omen resting in the kitchen sink. As though he were reading tea leaves: 

A spilling landslide, a mark of something long lost. 

White shards of femurs and ribs poked from the mound, dead in burial. 

Bile rose in his throat.

 

Later that night, Edward scoured the internet to find the results of the river’s changes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The full saying is "as iron sharpens iron, so one person sharpens another," from Proverbs 27:17
> 
> Also, don't misunderstand me. I love cats! I'm just trying to stick to Monty's canon of hating cats wayyy too passionately (from a wisp on the Ascension remake.)


	25. The Fall of Magdeburg

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Like that which hath laid low the strong and fair,  
> But heretic Magdeburg.”—O, bid me spare  
> The tale: my blood would freeze, or brain would fire,  
> To tell the horrors which sectarian ire.

“That jacket looks good on you,” Edward said as he kept his attention fixed on sketching, “why don’t you wear it more often?”

“I just can’t wear it in the heat ‘sall,” his partner hummed, and tossed a stick across the brush of the forest, “but if you think an aviator makes me look hot, then-“

Richtofen interrupted with laughter. Tank always knew how to take a compliment.

It was very early in the morning, much too early to be awake on a weekend. However, a walk through the foggy birch of dawn seemed too romantic to turn down. Light clouds drifted between their boots and weaved through the trees, almost as though they were walking in the solid sky. The hues of which were downcast and grey, dense as it hid a lazy red sun behind a curtain of smokey wisps. It reminded the couple of the paintings Doctor Monty hung in his living room. One could understand the appreciation, however, there remained muted tension ingrained in anxious diaphragms seeking ease.

The local news, too, would reflect on the strange anomalies as of late;

‘Said it’s the earliest these temperatures had rolled around.

‘Said it’s going to be a dry and cold season.

‘Said a hurricane was blowing in from the south.

 

Despite this, a hurricane would mostly be a coastal problem. The mountains would quickly have their say to a storm which craves heat and humidity. There would be no urgency as all that was expected was wind and rain. Maybe the last rain for a long, long, time.

 

Still, this was a few days off; Enough time to enjoy the calm prologue.

 

“I like seeing you in flanel though. It’s cute,” Dempsey was contented as he returned the compliment.

Edward only busied his shy hands in response, and ran a thumb across the strap of his messenger bag. ‘Cute’ was still shoes on the wrong feet.

 

“What are you drawing, anyway?” Tank attempted to get a peak from behind his German, who was using a fallen trunk for a bench. 

Edward deliberately slammed the book shut and teased, “until I hear your guitar, you won’t have so much as a glance at my sketches.”

“Mean!”

“It’s only fair.”

The Marine turned his sight back to Daisy and their lazy game of fetch, “what sort of things do you draw, then?” 

“From life, it’s like a journal in a way.”

“Am I in there?”

“Maybeeee,” Richtofen sang, “but it hardly does you justice. It’s simply a way to waste time between lectures.”

“If it’s important to you it’s not a waste of time, Doc.”

“I suppose,” he mused, and tucked the Ibis sketchbook away. From there, he stepped to Tank’s side and leaned all his weight against the man’s shoulder, “and what do you play? And don’t say ‘anything,’ you must have a favorite genre.”

“Uh, bluegrass.”

Edward made a small nodd, recollecting the echo of the melodies whenever he went into town. It suited Dempsey nicely, blues rhythms sharing their feelings in a sensitive, yet indirect, way.

 

Among the light mundane chatter, Richtofen began to detect distraction from his better half. Like he was talking just to talk, to avoid being left alone with his thoughts. At least, this was the assumption made by his own familiarity with doing so. The flat series of questions seemed more like an interview.

Regardless, he knew that bringing the suspicion to attention would be counterproductive. Managing Dempsey required something different, as it was clear that frank discussions of insecurities did little for a proud man. Instead, Edward needed to ground Tank with attention, both physical and emotional. 

...This would be easy, as showering his lover with sincere endearments came as naturally as breathing. The German held no qualms about gripping the strong arm around his own, and whispering the honey-sweet ideas that coated his heart. He had to give his marine space to sing his melody.

 

Dempsey grinned mischievously into those seaglass eyes; those which read the pages in his mind. The intention that Richtofen couldn’t quite put his finger on: the need to escape. 

 

And so Tank asked;

“You wanna run?”

“Run?”

The American tugged on his partner’s arm to lead the direction, and began his dash into the weeds.

“Where are you going?” Edward called, confused as Daisy chased without hesitation.

“Follow!” Tank simply cheered, and sped off without looking back.

 

It soon became an informal game of tag as the three jogged through the wood, no destination in mind. Running for the sake of running. Possession by the heart of their youth, a pair who seldom let responsibility and fear shackle their spirits.

As they carried, cold air burned in Richtofen’s lungs from attempts to keep up. The stinging sensation clung to the very top of his throat and tightened his chest, a familiar feeling. 

At the same time, the way which Daisy bounced playful circles made the silent grove illuminate with excited laughter. (Namely by the German‘s behalf, as he tried very hard to tap his lover into play.) If one could awaken the trees and flowers with happiness, it would have been spring.

 

Caught in the competitive game, the doctor didn’t realize the steep hill approaching, and slipped backwards into the valley. Edward began creating a trail of pollen as he tumbled into golden brush; flecks like dust over shuttered blinds in streaming light. Noising a tumult of both adrenaline and desperation. Dempsey attempted to run after his partner, but not even he could stand a chance against the slope. It wasn’t long before the American, too, was spiraling down.

 

As for Daisy, having difficulty understanding the movements, simply wiggled on her back like a flipped turtle until she began a slow descent.

 

Down and down the three traveled, until they leveled out on a flat land of shed leaves. Though Edward was turned dizzy by his spinning sights, the marine was in hysterics. Shortly after, Daisy came to lick the red faces of the fallen nobles. 

The German recovered in subtle ecstasy as Tank joked, “I think we accidentally cast ourselves into The Lion King.”

“Not quite,” Richtofen threatened with mischief, and climbed over the younger man’s heaving frame.

Dempsey tried to shove his partner off as the man pecked ticklish kisses and nibbles all over his throat. He erupted into a fit of mad giggling, begging for the end. Yet, the doctor was in no mood for mercy. The dark hairs of his mustache only intensified the attack.

Though, eventually, Edward laid off to admire the beacon of Tank’s joy. 

“Now we are lions,” the doctor nodded with assurance.

Tank sounded prideful as he told, “you know, Tak said the guys have a bet on how long our honeymoon phase will last.”

“We should make it last forever just to annoy them.”

 

No mercy!

 

The couple lay among golden rays and grounded clouds. Richtofen remained on the soldiers stomach, and meditated to the steady beat of the trying heart. A sense of routine in a moment so special. Meanwhile, Tank absentmindedly preened and pulled some hitchhiker seeds and burs from his coat.

“You got your knife on you?” He mumbled, frustrated by a few stubborn remnants.

“I still haven’t found it,” Edward simply sighed, and wrapped his arms tighter around his partner.

“It probably got knocked under a table. You’ll find it soon.”

“Probably.”

The German let his eyes flutter shut as his partner began playing with his hair. He always loved that.

 

Suddenly, a low and sensitive tone suddenly rose from the soldier, “you alright?”

“Huh?”

“I mean, you’re kinda.. I dunno; not yourself.”

Richtofen blinked, completely unaware. In fact, the man thought himself quite well today. To appear so sickly when there were fields to run through and boyfriends to chase? That alone sounded impossible.

Then again, he wasn’t all that surprised. The past few days were spent anxiously pacing his nights away, rather than dreaming. He could lie to himself, and say he couldn’t even if he tried. However, this was not the case. 

The truth was that the doctor was afraid.

Edward refused to willingly make himself unconscious. A fear that he may start sleepwalking out the front door, or perform some other incriminating act. Monty was right to worry for Richtofen’s public image, and being a walking corpse would do little to promote his innocence. 

 

Despite this, Edward did not want to worry his lover. Even if the American easily recognized some sort of hidden undoing, he would just have to remain stubborn.

Therefore, he half-lied, “I admit I’m still depressed about my birds. Nikolai must be disappointed in me.”

“Nah, Nikolai’s smart. He knows it wasn’t your fault.” 

“He might think I’m irresponsible at the very least, and may find a different home for that little terrier.”

Dempsey was quick to sneer bitterly, “Don’t even worry about that. Honestly, I blame that creepy pastor. Total cult leader vibes. He probably let that cat in.”

“...I think Alistair’s misunderstood; he’s quite interesting once you get to know him.”

“You haven’t seriously been talking to that guy, have you?”

“Perhaps once or twice,” Richtofen muttered nonchalantly, “nothing sensitive, just religious matters. No man more suited than he for discussion.” 

Another half-lie as the doctor omitted their relationship was that of friends.

 

In fact, just last night Alistair asked Edward to join him inside the parish. A humbled hall of stained glass and pews arranged like a military graveyard. A ritual akin to inviting the vampire into one’s home, as he would otherwise reject such inclinations on his own.

It was an invasion of privacy to a household he was not a member of.

 

——

“Do you believe in God, Doctor Richtofen?” The old man asked as he took a seat in the vacant stands.

“I can’t say for certain,” he confessed, and joined his new friend, “sometimes I do and sometimes I don’t.”

Thankfully, the pastor was not offended, “then what of the universe? What does a scientist believe?”

“I believe in a universe that doesn’t care, and people who do. Not in a cosmic indifference or pessimistic sense, simply that fate picks no sides.”

“...Do you feel uncared for, Edward?”

He sighed, “no, but I feel as though I’ve been scorned. A God that allows suffering makes little sense. Unless God’s a sadist.”

“A consequence of free will, not his own.”

“Even considering circumstance?”

Alistair leaned back on his elbows, “humans make the choice to discriminate the poor, to isolate the sick, to think the imperfect broken. They also make the choice to deprive the unfortunate of their needs.”

“Whatever the case,” Edward reflected, “It may be difficult to tell moral dilemmas over human nature. Especially assuming it to be some intangible gift.”

“Suffering is a social construct, in a way. A heavy woman is seen as healthy in impoverished nations; but in places of privilege, it is suddenly obscene and distasteful.”

“It’s a shame, really. The world seems to be in excess of misery these days,” he frowned.

“And this chapel only becomes emptier and emptier by the years,” the old man the smiled, “Well, fortunate we have fall and winter. At least we can find closeness here.”

 

There was heavy longing in the pastor’s voice. Almost nostalgia. What Richtofen would soon learn, was that Alistair had dedicated his life to worship for a very long time. The Louisiana spirit had a very privileged upbringing. A vibrant family of extravagant personality, a wealthy upbringing, an extensive education. However, like Edward, he seldom got along with other people. This was more for his cold nature than a fear of judgement, but neither case did well in terms of impressions. 

That’s where he found his calling: his relations had established a captivating voice of a storyteller and prophet, and the passion he held in seriousness granted importance in his words. Though Alistair was not searching to connect with parishioners, he sought purpose as a messenger of God. He spent years of his life on a pilgrimage of philosophy, wishing for his words to reach everyone, not just those who believed the same way he did. Frankly, the pastor didn’t care if they believed at all. He simply requested that he be heard. Nothing more.

Little did he know, was that this is exactly what attracted his future husband. Monty, too, had a flair for the dramatic and an assertive personality. Alistair and Monty were already middle aged by the time they met, and some psychological drive to settle had finally come. 

From the Louisiana man’s perspective, it was wonderful to find someone who would not sympathize with his life, but instead to find solidarity. 

To Doctor Monty’s perspective, it was dedication and adoration to come across a nature so rare. (That being; a man of dignity and intelligence, yet also devotion.) 

 

However, to Richtofen, he found the relationship to be that of convenience.

 

“Speaking of closeness,” Edward hesitated as he tempted polite conversation, “but you and your husband don’t seem very close.”

With curiosity more than irritation, he asked, “how so?”

“You’re literally always here, and I don’t think I’ve once seen you speak to each other. He doesn’t even consider your cat his pet.”

Alistair sighed, “don’t misunderstand; I still care for him deeply. We used to be best friends. The same sense of humor, sharing good memories… however, that’s where fate and circumstances came into play. Things aren’t like that these days.”

“I apologize, I-”

“No need, no need. It’s very obvious anyway. Of course you would be curious,” he waved a hand thoughtlessly, “if it’s any comfort: our marriage is not at stake. Nor do we hate each other. We’ve simply accepted that there are clear reasons we could never go back.”

With a chuckle, he added, “besides, we’re far too old to try finding other people.”

The German found it charming that the pastor and his husband found positivity in their age, rather than despair. Yet, a question still lie. A question only Alistair’s spirituality could answer.

 

“What would you say of one’s own, uh, affairs. Hidden or uninfluenced by fate?” Edward asked lowly, “say anxiety, or disease.”

“That’s your own body’s doing, as a doctor you know cells are alive; part of being alive is making mistakes,” the pastor then smirked, “or convincing you something is wrong via physical pain.”

“Even I can understand the mechanisms of that,” the German laughed.

The old man could still nodd, “but truly, the conscious and unconscious self will naturally want what’s best; but free will, and thus mistakes, are natural.”

With great hesitation, Richtofen attempted to reach, “... following that philosophy; on the topic of loss. For example, an infant just beginning life. Why not interfere?”

“...If he interferes with one, he must interfere with all. God could never choose between saving the life of a 1 year old versus a 90 year old, but he can offer happiness in the kingdom of heaven,” Father Rapt cast his gaze aside, understanding the personal nature of the query. After all, he had been a guest to many deathbeds in his lifetime.

He went on, “rain and mud are not alive. Therefore, when the landslide comes and the children die, that is on the will of no one except bad fate.”

“...”

“Besides, that is why he created grieving in those left behind. So a person can better themselves in heartache. Or not.”

“Conscious or unconscious?” 

“Precisely. These little gifts of instinct express his love,” he regretted to add, “like a bird’s instinct to fly somewhere warm, it’s an effort to preserve itself.”

The German reflected on this for a moment. Frankly, it made him no longer wish to scorn unseen forces, but rather fate. 

Then again, fate led him to Alistair, and Dempsey, and a job he loves. One cannot have the good without the bad to balance perfection, right? 

“I guess one may suggest that we all follow our own predestined path, but we can still choose the shape of our footprints along the way,” Richtofen scratched, “I just wish I could stop walking. There is something happening to me, and I just want to be carried.”

“Are you implying that you want to die?”

“No. I simply want to be myself again. Mental anguish has already diffused from my environment, and I cannot handle this physical pain very well,” he sighed, “I want it to stop, but even that could potentially make matters worse.”

One last time, Edward tried to justify a rational sense of skepticism, “then, if one searches for what’s best, then why opt for evil?”

“....Even evil has its perks.”

“...Conscious or unconscious.”

 

——-

 

Dempsey scratched anxiously, “I’m not going to tell you who you can and can’t hang out with. Just. Watch out, ok?”

“I will,” his lover ensured.

“We should get walking, I got work soon and I don’t feel like abandoning you in an empty field.”

Richtofen smirked, “help me up, at least,” and his partner grabbed the outstretched hand, pulling him to his feet.

Now face to face, the doctor was quick to press his warm lips to Tank’s cool ones.

They began their walk back up to Edward’s home.

 

“...when did you know you liked guys?” the soldier asked, seemingly from nowhere.

“Oh,” he blinked, “between 13 to 15, I can’t recall exactly.”

“Did you like girls before then?”

“No, simply disinterested as most children are. Why the sudden interest?”

Dempsey only shrugged, “just curious. You’re always so confident about it. It’s awesome.”

Richtofen went red as he muttered, “it’s not like I have a reason to be ashamed.”

“You’re right,” he said simply.

“Are. You ashamed?”

“No way!” Tank said with volume, before easing, “I'm just sayin I admire you.”

 

If Dempsey could express the intensity in which he meant it, he would. However, this was impossible.

Richtofen often spoke honestly and unashamed of his thoughts. Embarrassed, maybe, but never from a place of regret. From the way he shared his diagnosis, to the seemingly easy confessions of loss, to the openness he expressed his love, he appeared unfiltered and genuine by nature. Hell, even if Edward didn’t wish to articulate his thoughts, the German instead became vocal about his intentions. 

Richtofen would never deny his feelings either, he didn’t even appear to be weighted by them. Confessions were the only therapy he needed. 

Instead, what weighed him down was something different. Something the younger man had a hard time understanding. 

Perhaps, Tank often thought, even the doctor himself was uncertain what it was. Because he, too, noticed.

 

As for Tank Dempsey, his own understanding of who he was, was simply a veil. 

 

The doctor was turned more flustered, “you’re ridiculous. I’ve done nothing worth admiring.”

“As if! I’ve never seen you try to hide yourself,” Dempsey soon frowned, “I hate telling most people I’m bi.”

“Why?”

“Just misunderstandings. They usually think I’m a gay guy in denial.”

Edward scoffed, “that’s their problem.”

“It’s still annoying.”

After a moment of consideration, the doctor soon nodded, “I suppose I still understand. My sister was also bi; strangers always thought it was for attention,” he then lamented, “but we’ve found that it’s impossible to expect perfection in everyone’s knowledge.”

The German returned to the house of memories in his head with a warm smile, “But! She wouldn’t let it get to her. She knew herself well.”

“Kinda cool to have a sister like you,” Tank spoke, surprised.

To this, Richtofen tilted his head inquisitively, “do you have any brothers or sisters?”

“Nah, it was always just me and my mom,” the Marine reflected fondly, “I think if I ever got a chance to tell her I’m bi, she’d be supportive as hell.”

Edward was almost hyper-aware of the past tense. Tank, however, was just glad to remember her. It was no wonder the American grew to be someone so full of kindness and strength. Richtofen found it a relief that he could send off his lover with a happy memory. 

“...I would’ve liked to meet her.”

“Yeah, she would have loved you.”

 

\-----

 

It was around noon when the couple went their separate ways, a soft kiss and an eager promise to see each other soon. 

Richtofen would have liked to spend the rest of the day sleeping off his fatigued body. However, he was too excited to prove himself right.

 

Upon consulting with his new supervisor, Doctor Harvey Yena, he finally understood what caused the ammonia and nitrates of the river to spark. Why the river seemed to attract flies and death. Why the water was truly poison.

 

Something had been decaying, and whatever it was, it was big. 

 

Doctor Yena speculated a deer, even a bear, but Edward hoped it was not the latter. The last thing he needed to worry about was finding a creature like that to gladly maul him in his yard.

At least things made sense, which in itself was a means of comfort. He nearly began to think he was growing obsessed. 

 

Richtofen was a hematologist, not a chemist. Yet, he knew very well that decay can take a long time. 

He also knew that high concentrations of nitrates killed fish, while promoting algae growth. 

He even began to understand why he would find the strange sinkhole on some days, and then it would be gone the next. Dark algae blooms were likely polluting the riverbed, creating the illusion of depth. 

 

Still, suspicion remained tempting.

 

He knew water should have accelerated decomposition, but it only carried on. 

 

The man stepped, a silhouette against the still-red sky, and came to the riverbank. 

The depth of the flow looked lower than it had a few weeks ago, and the reeds and grass which lined it were already drying. Mosquitos, too, were fewer and far between; the truer blessing among all changes. 

Finally, Richtofen gazed out.

Though he searched, though he stared, the water was all that stared back. No pit, no chasm, no gaping void. Bitter water clear of debri. The burning rouge sphere that was the sun, stark across the pale grey clouds; the only trace of hollowed holes.

 

Surprisingly, Edward scrunched his brow. He wanted something to be there. He needed something to be there. Science couldn’t be wrong.

 

Therefore, the man began to walk upstream. Whatever lay dying must have been drifting down. Rather it be from creeks which sprouted like roots from the ancient current, or the main body itself. 

Perhaps, he thought, it would be hard to find; likely bone and dirt by now. 

 

The further Edward tread, the more worried he became as the buzzing in his brain had returned from pulsing temples. Flies knocking about in his skull, breaking concentration.

_Just stress,_

_Just a trigger,_

_It would be alright._

_It was just worry._

 

However, this would not be the case. 

 

At last, he came to the source:

Two broken figures drifting among discarded trash and branches. Bodies, with their own special something marking their muted postures; rather this be a missing head, or limbs wrapped in newspaper like bouquets that mocked. 

The buzzing became louder as he backed away in terror, clamoring for his phone. 

The operator’s words were shrouded in a song that rang a declaration of pestilence and rot. Something pulling Edward to reach into the pit of black water and revel in the baptismal flow. To bless himself in a confessional of ice, to run his filthy nails across the pale flesh. 

Richtofen was sick, disgusted.

He wouldn’t succumb to this primal voice of predation. He did, however, became frantic as the coroners acted the fantasies he wished to fulfill. 

 

As Edward was restrained, he blankly gazed to a painted sky, and found that the flies in his brain had escaped.

_Helicopters,_

_Circling the mountains._

_Wings of spinning blades,_

_Beating their laughing drone._

_Low gusts of the approaching insects,_

_And the smell of death wafted into every crevice,_

_Like a drop of paint into water._

_Like blood blooming a flowering red stain from a stab-wound._

_Like that from a small, ornate, pocket knife;_

_sticking out among the dry reeds._

_In it’s very own empty spaces._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who found a publication of Henry Longfellow's translations??? This guy
> 
>  
> 
> ...Bet you didn't expect to find philosophy of theism on a Call of Duty: Zombies DemRicht fanfiction. Or straight-up prose...


	26. Autoclave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *Sitting on my porch in a rocking chair*  
> 

The sky remained grey as the hurricane made it’s taunting approach. Rain was cold and unpredictable, often coming and going in a matter of minutes. Even the foggy cerulean of the Blue Ridge Mountains seemed to change into a golden sheen. 

Edward would never find a reason to complain; the frequent downpour lulled him to sleep with ease. After all, the tapping of rain on windows and rooftops couldn’t compare to any lullaby.

However, today, visiting his good friend would make things all the better. Richtofen had no idea how he was going to begin sharing the events of his week, but Albert’s company remained exciting. Perhaps, the artist would be the only one capable of understanding. A man wishing for peace, but reputation hindering so.

Just now, a small bell sang Edward’s arrival to the familiar, ‘Icarus Leadlight.’ Al was quick to greet his guest, recognizing the light clunk of boots across old wooden floors.

“Hey, doc,” his Italian-American accent rang out, and soon gave Richtofen a heavy pat on the shoulder, “great to see ya.”

The German sighed pathetically as he took a seat at the front counter, “hello, Albert. Gott, you would not believe the week I’ve had.”

“Yeah, I heard about it on the news. You look like hell.”

Passing his fingers through his hair, Richtofen let out an exasperated groan, “believe me. I know. It’s as though every other day I’m at the police station.”

“Why’s that?” 

“They think I have something to do with it!”

With alarm, he jolted in shock, “goddamn, what do they have on ya?”

The doctor was reluctant as he simply uttered, “my knife. Near the corpses I found.”

“Holy shit.”

“I just don’t understand. That knife was stolen, so someone must have planted it there,” Edward frowned, and produced an ibis sketchbook from his messenger bag.

“Can’t imagine a guy like you having enemies, or even killing someone to be honest,” Al shrugged as he took the notepad, “I know what killers look like.”

Richtofen rolled his eyes, “not according to the television. Apparently I’m some sociopath with a history of violence.”

The Italian passed his own journal over, a plain black moleskin, and tried a show of solidarity, “I know a guy that’s a cop here, Jackie Vincent. If you can get him involved, he could probably help you out.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. He’s the kind of guy that knows how to look the other way, if you get what I’m saying.”

“Oh dear,” Edward cringed, “uh, that’s quite alright. Thank you though.”

 

Richtofen took his friend’s journal and purused the tan pages. These weekly book exchanges were becoming a ritual the doctor looked forward to. The pair, both avoidant types regarding their lifestyles, found the sketch diaries as a bridge to one another. The choice to draw a certain detail, a change in technique, even the mood in the lightning all meant something more. The two knew this well, it were almost like a game.

While Edward enjoyed focusing on the present in his entries, Albert seemed to focus on reminders of the past, and how those memories shaped him. Still, there were no rules in their exchange, and frankly, the German enjoyed the stories.

There seemed to be a focus on nautical themes in the artist’s work this time. Tall lighthouses shining a beacon from far away, seagulls soaring through heavy rain and into a forest, and crashing waves on a rocky shore: all were overtaking the week’s entries. 

 

“So are you the Mariner or the Albatross?” Richtofen wondered with humor.

Albert tilted his head inquisitively.

“Uh, you know. The Albatross brings good fortune, the mariner shoots it down, he wears it’s corpse around his neck to show his regret.”

“I guess I’m an albatross then, cause I don’t regret a thing,” he cheered in his scratchy voice.

The doctor could only sound a good-natured laugh, “I suppose a mariner suits me. A show of regret, but one cannot undo the past.”

“So, you become smarter instead of taking it,” he added supportively.

 

Perhaps Al was once a sailor before he arrived, learning trades wherever the sea took him.

Perhaps he lived on the Pacific, watching the effortless flight of albatross riding the wind. 

Perhaps it was the typhoon that approached, which took Albert to somewhere else; another storm of his own. 

 

Edward was soon prompted to ask, “do you have somewhere safe to stay during the hurricane?”

“Not really,” he said simply, “I was going to stay here and watch the place.”

“Would you like to stay with me?”

Al was made humble by the offer, “that’s real nice of you, Ed. But I’ll be safe here. I couldn’t rest without worrying ‘bout my livelihood.”

The German nodded agreeably, “just don’t be afraid to call if it becomes too rough.”

“Is your man going to stay the night too?”

“Yes, actually,” Edward blushed, “but it wouldn’t be an intrusion to have you there.”

“I kinda want to meet him, you always put a lot of detail when he’s on the page,” he chuckled.

“Ugh, don’t tease me!” 

 

Finally, the artist reached the more recent pages in the doctor’s journal. Namely, those featuring dead birds and visceral displays of gore. 

Al had a visible reaction of shock as he scanned, “damn, Ed. Things are really getting to ya, huh?”

“Of course it has! I’m grateful the police have no warrant to search me, or my scrawlings would have been incriminating.”

The man leaned a bit, “Do you want me to keep your book here? Just in case.”

Richtofen pursed his lips thoughtfully, “... I wouldn’t want you to get in trouble for it.”

“If they come looking, I’ll just say you left it behind.”

“Thank you, Albert.”

 

Edward was not at all surprised by his friend’s understanding. The doctor was pleased to learn that Albert’s experience with law was not on behalf of violent crime. Instead, he was simply a part of the heist, a con artist in his own way. A pickpocket and a thief. However, Richtofen was truly one that believed in second chances. As easy as matters were to make a man, the same efforts could change him too. Of course, as long as they wanted to. And Albert really wanted to. The artist seemed to value the community too much to break their relationship, even if he still kept to himself in the end.

Albert’s image became more admirable as he came to know him.

He smirked, “it’s no prob. But anyway, your sketches are real good. You should try using charcoal.”

Then, as the artist scanned the last page, he blinked in alarm, “wait. The birds aren’t really dead, are they?”

“I’m afraid so,” Edward sighed bitter.

“Oh c’mon. Someone has you under a magnifinglass,” Albert complained, “how’d they die?”

“I don’t think I would call him a friend just yet, but the pastor has a cat that keeps sneaking into my home. It was hardly hunting and more like a slaughter.”

“Is the owner Alistair Rapt?”

“Yes! You know him?”

“I did the windows on his church. Maybe about...,” he paused thoughtfully and tried to recall, “about 10 or so years ago? He still comes by though.”

Richtofen was excited to hear this, “I should have thought so! There’s this piece that always catches my eye. The angel killing the lamb.”

“With its hooves stuck in the mud, right?” his friend mused, “that one was a pretty particular request. Father asked for something like a mirror for the front. I don’t do mirrors, so I made it about him. That counts, right?”

 

The doctor became pensive, not only did he learn what lay at the root-enveloped edge of the piece, but he became puzzled by the imagery, “I’m kind of curious why you’d make him some sacrificial lamb.”

“He’s the angel.”

“...why?”

Albert hesitated, “I mean, if you don’t know, you best hear it from him.”

“Did he do something bad?”

“I don’t think so, but he feels differently,” he cast his gaze away, “it’s a mirror, remember?”

“You know I’m not one to spread rumors-”

“Yeah don’t worry, it’s not that I don’t trust you. It’s just that people are starting to forget, and it should be his choice if it gets remembered.”

“Ah,” Richtofen was disappointed, but he was unaware that the Italian had a promise to keep.

“Yeah, sorry.”

 

From the sound of things, Alistair Rapt had an albatross of his own. Yet, instead of wearing it as a declaration of remorse, a message to his own heart and those closest, he nailed it to the front door of the chapel. 

Unfortunately for the pastor, Edward had no idea how to mind his own business. Nor did he wish to restrain his curiosity. 

Equally as unfortunate: the German was very capable of holding a grudge, and therefore felt that Rapt owed him. Cryptic discussions about theism and apologies didn’t quite do the trick. 

 

….Though, he was still forgiving. He would give the old man time to comply.

 

Al’s attention drew to a sketch of Takeo in the garden, “oh! I know this guy. I see him jogging along the river behind my place.”

A jolt struck throughout the younger man’s nerves, and out through the hair that stood along his arms. Edward’s friend was quick to notice this.

“You alright?” he asked warily.

“The river behind your home. Does it come down from the mountains?” the doctor spoke lowly.

“Yea?”

“...”

“Do you know it?” Al raised a brow.

“...can I tell you something? Just between us.”

“Of course,” he said, detecting the German’s seriousness.

 

“Keep away from that river. There’s something wrong with it.”

 

“Don’t tell me it’s the one you found those bodies in?” Albert recoiled, “nasty.”

“Yes, but that’s not why I’m warning you. Stay away from that river… because I get the feeling something terrible will happen soon.”

“Terrible how?”

“I don’t know, but I feel it. Physically. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Albert spoke with care, “you’re not being paranoid or nothing?”

“I. I don’t know, but if something happens I won’t forgive myself for not telling you. The ammonia and nitrates are regulating with the removal of decay, yet the empty spaces and voids remain.”

“...do you want to take my gun?”

“What?”

“In case someone tries to hurt you,” he said sternly. 

Edward knew little of his friend’s relationship with spirituality, but Al strongly believed in the importance of gut instinct and prophetic experiences. A kin to how Richtofen believed in a dog’s ability to understand outside of it’s perception, even before humans could palpate it for themselves.

 

“No, no. I assure you I’ll be alright,” he sighed, knowing this in his heart.

“I mean, if there’s some killer running around, and this river’s got you messed up, you’ll need to defend yourself.”

“Thank you, but this stranger seems intent on using me as a scapegoat. In the end, it’ll look like more incriminating evidence.”

“I hear you. Just keep your eyes up.”

“I will,” Edward promised and gathered his things to return to work.

 

The German acknowledged the stained glass painting behind the counter once more. A swirl of pale colors and gusts of wind. Rock and earth and mud. Changes of heart, but also expiry. A man who lost his family.

 

The doctor finally recalled a favor he wanted to ask, “...Actually, I have one request. Can you make me another box? Like the blue one you sold me when we first met.”

“That’s easy,” Al nodded with assurance.

“Can you make it like a garden? Long and rectangular, too.”

“No prob, sounds like al project while I’m hole’d up.”

Richtofen smiled with the kindest sincerity he could offer, “thank you so much, Albert. And don’t forget to call if you need a place to stay.”

 

Just before stepping from the dim shop and onto the illuminated autumnal street, the artist called after him, “hey, Ed?”

“Yes?”

“If it makes you feel any better, I don’t think you’d ever hurt anyone.”

“...thank you, Albert.”

 

Albert Arlington was a good man. 

 

Edward was struck by homesickness.

 

\--

 

Dempsey was sat at the table chopping peaches and strawberries, while nearby, Takeo steadily mixed the fruits into a pot of sugar and lime. The mouth watering smells of the boiling sweets overtook the foreigners home, attracting any dog healthy enough to walk the distance. 

As a gardener and armchair botanist, the cooler season brought an end to many harvests, and a busy month for Takeo. Here, he rushed to preserve as much of his pickings as he could. At least Tank was eagerly excited to help. The two would churn a sweet jam that would last for weeks to come, a time that normally would deprive anyone of fresh fruit. 

Among all the options to preserve the vibrant crop, this remained a favorite among those who shared a sweet tooth. Especially when Dempsey’s friend offered a few jars in exchange for his time helping. So far, he was feeling good having earned 5 jars already. 

However, the marine still felt a bit odd, and more interested in asking Takeo for advice. Particularly since he would be staying the night at Edward’s home for the first time; a safer refuge to weather the storm than his creaky old apartment.

 

The sound of a knife coming down on the cutting board beat rhythmically, and Tank confided, “I think I should’ve asked to stay with you guys.”

“You’re worrying about nothing, Dempsey.”

“At least you guys know about my. Uh. Sleeping problems.”

The foreigner sighed, recognizing his friend’s avoidance in calling the problem what it was: night terrors. 

It was always hard to talk the American out of his feelings of shame without sugar coating harsh reality. It was equally as difficult to build him up without romanticizing his trauma. Takeo wholeheartedly believed this was Peter’s fault, but bringing that man up would make matters worse. If anything, he himself knew that Edward would understand, perhaps even more than he and Nikolai.

Dempsey added pathetically, “I guess I have Daze to look out, but I have no idea what Eddie will have to deal with.”

“...why don’t you just tell him?”

“You’re kidding,” he scoffed.

“Do you really doubt him that much? If you wish to avoid him ‘finding out’ then tell him yourself.”

The American only frowned, “I don’t doubt him, I just don’t want to look,” he paused, “I dunno, pathetic. I’m kind of his rock, and he’s dealing with a lot right now.”

“Times are changing, Dempsey. There is no need to cling to antiquated ideas of masculinity,” the man uttered as he moved on to bottling the finished batch.

He couldn’t help but cringe at the brutal honesty, but Takeo was right, “what am I supposed to say? ‘Hey, if I start kicking and screaming just plug your ears,’ or something?”

Takeo hummed, “well no, but perhaps you should speak as candidly as possible. Relationships shouldn’t be one sided.” 

 

Tank cast his gaze aside, and watched Daisy sleeping with Richtofen’s terrier. The man wished his hands weren’t so dirty, it would have been nice to snap a picture; the perfect lock-screen. Edward himself granted Dempsey the honor of naming the dog in a show of affection. Therefore, the marine mulled over and over searching on behalf the lucky hound. He still had no name, too, but he was persistent in trying.

It was exciting to think that very soon, his German could take him home. Imagining long walks with their dogs in the morning and a pile of fur at the foot of their beds was romantic. (Of course, hoping that he would trust himself to share a bed again.) 

 

At least, he often thought, there was something wonderful to look forward to. From how things seemed, Richtofen, too, was eager to get closer. (Oh the perks of dating at this age, where love was no longer for play, and more so about sharing a future.)

 

Tank smiled softly, “I mean, if he’s trying to be more open for me I should do the same.”

The foreigner tried to lighten the mood, “besides, I don’t believe you’ll be sleeping very much. Trying to pull you two apart is like pulling a plunger from a drain.”

Nikolai, who had been completely uninvolved until now, shouted from the living room in annoyance, “it sounds like that too!”

 

Had the jam not been boiling hot, Dempsey would have loved to chuck a handful at both of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I accidentally galaxy-brained the BOTD ending. So Al takes the form of a seagull, and there's this poem called "Rime of the Ancient Mariner" written in 1834. Basically: An albatross brings good luck and helps a stranded ship, The captain shoots it down, bad luck starts happening, he is made to wear the Albatross around his neck to show regret and forever travel.  
> Al leads them to freedom. Ed has the burden of his actions, and he regrets/remorses over it, but he can't change the past. Doomed to forever travel...Nice symbolism, don't know if that was intentional though.
> 
> Also in 2018 hurricane Florence was a real thing in the Carolina.
> 
> And just in case: an autoclave is a machine for sterilizing medical tools by subjecting them to A Lot of heat and pressure.
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who has left feedback so far, I wouldn't have the confidence to share this.


	27. Family Portrait IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Growing up around hospitals, growing up a doctor.
> 
> TW// Suicide and Self-harm. I'll summarize everything important in the end notes if you want to skip.
> 
> Resources for those feeling suicidal, (or other physical/emotional/spiritual/identity troubles): http://griffincastle.tumblr.com/help

Samantha was far older now, already on her Junior year of college. How things had changed, too! 

These days, she held her brown hair in a short bob, and dressed in a more mature fashion. Usually a light blouse or cardigan, and all at the sacrifice of putting her favorite mismatched socks and ball-caps away. Sam was never one to take judgement too personally, but she was never happy knowing strangers wouldn’t take her seriously.

Likewise, she had finally eased her intensity over the years. It was almost as if she spent all her energy in her youth, and settled into the role as a bright influence to her brother.

Edward’s sister remained herself though, and still loved her stuffed bear. Whenever she came home from college, she would immediately seek it out as her safety blanket. However, as this became routine, she finally figured to bring her childhood toy across seas. 

This, of course, was a mistake.

The old bear couldn’t manage the rough handling of dorm life, and when Sam finally witnessed one of his button eyes popping out, she began to carry him everywhere. Naturally, this only exacerbated its ‘wounds,’ so to say. By the time she returned for winter vacation, the doll was falling apart at the seams. 

Even after she spent the previous night celebrating the return home with her family, she would still become distressed by the condition of her poor bear while unpacking the next morning.

 

As for Edward, he was about to graduate his final year of highschool. Although he remained slim, the dark hairs across his body and budding facial hair matured his awkward posture. Richtofen had fully grown, too: one who could stand above a crowd effortlessly. Of course, this came at a price. Strangers could not resist comments when they looked up to search for what cosmic entity was blocking the sun; often that he should play sports, followed by questions about his eyes. 

To no surprise, he constantly found himself annoyed to attract the attention. 

Still, despite learning how to take better care of himself, as well as gaining confidence thanks to his sister’s support, he still remained closed off. This became clear as Sam made a swift knock at his bedroom door, and Edward answered while pulling the headphones down from his ears.

 

“Fix him!” She said as she shoved the stuffed bear into his face.

Edward rubbed his eyes with exhaustion, “don’t you know how to stitch? I thought you were in pre-med.”

“I’ll learn later. Now you have to help him.”

“...Alright, come in.”

“Thanks, Teddy!” She beamed.

 

Her brother’s room hadn’t changed much within the past few years. It was still a clutter of projects, both artistic and scientific, to keep him busy. The curtains were often drawn to keep his sleepy head from awakening to harsh daylight, too. Sam was pleased to see that even his millipedes remained alive, still clicking and squirming around their tank. She had no idea bugs could live that long, nor get that big. One could easily see their glistening exoskeletons from across the room.

Samantha plopped onto the mattress as Richtofen brought together a makeshift operating table; a kit of sewing supplies and cloth across a scratched and graffitied old desk.

 

“Today’s the big day. You excited?” Sam asked while swinging her feet.

He spoke quietly as he attempted to thread a needle, as if volume would affect his concentration, “Uh. A little.”

“Just a little?” she nearly gasped. 

“I just don’t want to get my hopes up with an acceptance rate so low.”

“If I got in, you can.”

“Yeah, but you’re smarter than me.”

The girl nodded with false solemnity, and began to loom over his shoulder, “true, what a shame.”

Richtofen shoved her away, frowning, “you’re in my light!”

“I am the light!” Samantha giggled and returned to her place, “it’s going to be weird, right? Going back to Germany?”

“I don’t even remember it anymore,” he confessed, “but I want to go to the same school dad went to.”

“We’ll be together too, so I can show you all the ropes,” her tone shifted to one that was more delicate, “plus you don’t need to worry about being lonely.”

 

Edward nodded shyly as he restuffed the bear, well trained after having lost count of how often he fixed it. His sister, meanwhile, held her pensive silence before spinning his desk chair around to face her.

“...can I see?” Sam outstretched her upturned palms.

He sighed self-consciously, and rolled up his buttoned-up sleeves to present them. With great care, she took the hands into her own, and turned them over to find a series of many thick scores on each wrist, glued shut and healing.

 

Samantha ran her thumbs of the plastic-like texture that sealed his wounds. 

 

She completely blamed herself. 

 

Edward spent the first half of the year in despair. His only friend was halfway across the world, his parents began working longer hours for their new responsibilities at the hospital, and soon his only socialization came from cruel teenagers. Not only this, but Richtofen finally learned what happened to his biological family, all by surprise. 

He had been researching his family tree for class when he learned he was a product of tragedy. Distressed, Edward took the news to his father, who was able to fill in the details. Needless to say, he didn’t take the circumstances, nor his parent’s silence, well. In Maxis’ defense, he didn’t want his son to grow up distraught and guilty.

 

Finding out that Sam was going to take summer classes, instead of returning home as per usual, ended up being Edward’s last shove into freezing waters. But it wasn’t her fault, it would never be her fault. It was simply bad timing, hurt by refusal to communicate his heart ache.

He was enveloped in feelings of self-loathing, thinking things would be better if he were gone. Like he were being tortured by a sadistic power. That dying was the only way to get away.

Edward attempted suicide, writhing from the privacy of the bathroom.

The thing about death, however, is that it proved to be agonizingly painful. 

From the moment he started to feel the effects of downing an entire bottle of acetaminophen, it was already too much. Gripping his own stomach to mute the pain. Biting hard onto his lip as he suppressed a noise of anguish. The acid of his stomach threatening to tear a hole through his gut. Finally passing out as he leaned over the sink, with the clatter of his head against the tub alerting his parents. 

 

It was horrible. Dying was nothing like the movies made it out to be. Not nearly as simple as going to sleep, nor gasping dramatic last breaths. 

 

Frankly, Richtofen thought, the less than ideal circumstances of his existence were nothing compared to overdose.

 

Then, ironically, when his birthday had come shortly after, and he was gifted an ornate pocket knife; a family heirloom from his mother’s side. 

Though weathered, it was obviously still a product of love. Edward hadn’t once seen the tool in use, and Sophia strictly carried it in her bag. However, the knife remained shining and polished, the smoothe sheath a dark oak, and the embellishments a glistening gold.

 

Richtofen took the gift as a sign of trust, and a subtle message that read ‘don’t you dare leave us again.’ Rightfully so, given that the pocket knife was his mom’s own reminder of where she came from.

 

The boy would not betray this trust.

 

Smiling through her sadness as she recalled all this, Samantha looked up at her brother, “no new marks.”

“I’m not an idiot,” he pulled away gently, and returned to his work of fixing the stuffed bear.

“I’m proud of you. I’m sorry.”

Richtofen frowned, almost confused, “it’s not your fault.”

“If I didn’t go to Heidelberg you wouldn’t be alone.”

“I like being alone,” he scrunched his nose, “I just. Solitude and loneliness are two different things.”

“But the fact you couldn’t even tell me-“

“I didn’t want to get in the way of your school.”

Sam wasn’t convinced, “you can talk to me about anything. You know that.”

“...sorry.”

She hesitated, “...do you still want to die?

“No way.”

His sister breathed a sigh of relief, trusting his strong conviction in saying so.

Richtofen smiled softly as he presented the fixed bear, “besides, I love you guys too much to put you through that again.”

Samantha gave him a great hug, “I love you too, Teddy.”

 

Just this once, he hugged her closer than he ever had.

 

She spun the plush in her hands excitedly, “you know, one day I think I’ll make him into a purse.”

“That’d be nice.”

“Kinda like he’s growing up with me!”

Her brother smiled, “well. Just so you know I’m terrible with buttons.”

 

Sam stretched out across the bed, still holding the bear happily, “you ever think about your old family?”

“Sometimes, especially these days.”

“I think about my mom sometimes, too,” she hummed, “my birth mom, I mean.”

“I like when dad used to tell us stories about her,” Eddie uttered with nostalgia.

“Me too, I kinda miss her. That doesn’t mean I don’t see Sophia as our mom though, or that she was a replacement either.”

Her brother seemed to meditate on that for a long time, before leaning back, “I guess that’s how I feel. I can’t even say that I’m still mad no one told me.”

Sam laughed, “yeah I’m sorry. I didn’t know either. Whenever I asked dad where your parents went, he’d say-” she slipped into a mocking old-man impression of Maxis and continued, “that’s rude, Samantha. Just be happy we have him.”

“I can’t really picture not having you for a sister.”

“You’d be missing out,” she smiled, and continued her admiration of the work done on her patchwork bear.

 

Suddenly, the two heard the sound of the garage door opening. Hurried and excited, they rushed downstairs to greet their parents. 

“Edward,” Maxis sang from the hall, “you’ve got a letter!”

The boy found his mom and dad standing in the doorway, holding a stark white envelope lined in elegant red and black.

Richtofen had been talking about Heidelberg University ever since he began to consider college. Likewise, when they would visit Samantha there every few months, he wouldn’t stop talking about it. Although he had never grown with constricted curiosity, or not having known the world, the extra push of independence was invigorating. He could do anything he wanted.

Maybe, Edward often day-dreamed, he could try alcohol for the first time. Or perhaps sneak into a library past closing. 

Maybe he could visit his old home.

Maybe, find out what it’s like to go out alone on a midnight drive.

Maybe he could even get back into dating.

 

This wasn’t all that enticed the German, of course. Prestigious alumni, like Mendeleev, Weber, and naturally, his own father, inspired him to become just as great. He wanted to contribute something wonderful and exciting. 

 

...Of course, he didn’t know what it would be yet; if anything, Heidelberg University would be the place to show him the way. Richtofen was certain of this.

 

Finally, Edward gingerly took the letter into his hand and slit it open with his finger. The family appeared to gather around, but not to see what it said. So they could hear Edward himself read.

 

The shaking boy skimmed over all the formalities of the letter, and zero-d in on exactly what he was looking for. 

 

_‘Edward Richtofen, you’ve been accepted-’_

 

\-------

The lecture hall was full with chatting students, but this was only because there would be a quiz by the end of the lesson. Otherwise, attendance was not required. 

Edward didn’t take it personally, he probably wouldn’t have come to class either. However, he preferred a paycheck to a day wasted as a depression-burrito wrapped under the covers.

 

The doctor cleared his throat, and began, “today we’re going to focus on the ethics of patient care.”

 

There were several things one had to know about bedside manner. First, a doctor must consider the sensitivity a patient requires. Often times they are scared; often times the family is even more so. Especially considering how often mortality will be addressed as a professional.

The ability to convey empathy within a few minutes of interaction was wholly a learned talent. Yet, above all, it was always best to ask mundane questions to establish a connection. Only then can one discuss subjects that would otherwise would be uncomfortable to share.

It is simply poor manners to jump straight into ‘so, we found drugs in your system-’ when a patient can made comfort by little gestures of interest like: ‘how long have you lived here?’ or ‘when is your birthday?’ 

Serious topics could be asked in more sensitive ways too. For example, saying ‘have you been in a hospital before?’ (a anecdotal question,) was far kinder compared to a judgemental micro-aggression such as ‘when was the last time you were hospitalized?’ 

 

Richtofen had joked, “but of course; if the person is spouting blood like a mall-fountain on the operating table, getting straight to the point is priority.”

 

He was glad his students found that funny. Or amusing, at least.

 

Secondly, a doctor must make their patient feel like their most important person in the hospital. Spending a little extra time with them, although it could hurt ones efficiency, could prevent miscommunications or trust issues. Not only this, but even making them a part of their own treatment did well in promoting a healthy relationship.

 

“Most importantly,” Edward said with a certain intensity, “you have to make them feel like the only person in the world. That you care deeply for them, that you are listening, and you are trying everything you can to see them at their best.”

 

Tank, who had been sitting in the furthest corner of the class, was simply a guest. All to witness his better half’s passion for his work, just as the marine had shared his own. In this moment, the German locked eyes, and Dempsey knew this was a direct message. 

 

He smiled a gentle smile, and Richtofen returned to his lesson with a warm fluttering in his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SUMMARY:  
> Sam is in college, and Ed gets his acceptance letter to the same school. Ed's loneliness is confirmed to be chronic, and he recently found out what happened to his birth family. Overwhelmed by too much happening at once, as well as bullies getting to him, he overdoses and survives. He's glad he's alive now though, and is excited to go to his dream school and live his life a bit more. Also: the knife belongs to Sophia, it was a gift for Ed's recent birthday, and a subtle gesture of trust that he won't hurt himself again.
> 
> The chapter transitions to Ed doing a lecture on ethics of patient care. Dempsey happened to be visiting that day, and connects that all the nice things about dedication, sensitivity, and attention are directly pointed at him. It's gay.
> 
> Actual endnotes:  
> \- Edward canonically went to Heidelberg!  
> \- Mendeleev founded the periodic table, and Weber founded the study of sociology.  
> \- Ironically, ethics courses aren't a focus in a lot of schools... I'm personally annoyed by this, a lot of doctors could benefit >>;


	28. Evening in Strasburg I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Storms, strawberry jam, dancing in the rain, and baths.

“You have everything you need?” Edward asked as his partner emerged from his room; everyone and everything ready to go.

“Yeah,” Tank nodded with assurance, and pecked a kiss to Richtofen’s cheek, “thanks for picking me up.”

He blushed, a bright smile now illuminating his face, “it’s nothing. Best for us to stretch our legs before we’re stuck inside.”

 

Today, the hurricane would be arriving. It were as though the jaws theme was playing it’s intimidating build, particularly intense with the way the sky looked already.  
So calm and beautiful. One wouldn’t even know of the impending cyclone, if it weren’t for the local news.

To everyone’s fortune, however, the storm had indeed weakened against cold atlantic waters. All that was expected in the little town would be flooding. Perhaps the chance of a landslide too, maybe even a rogue outdoor chair flying in from nowhere. (Most likely headed straight for Edward’s unlucky head!)

Still, even Dempsey thought it best to stay a comfortable night with his lover, instead of dealing with the inevitable power-outage and his own loneliness. 

Daisy had wagged a lazy cheer as her partner shared both excitement and anxiousness for the slumber party.

 

Before leaving, the Marine remembered to bring along the jars of strawberry and peach jam, a gift from Takeo and himself. Quite literally the fruit of his labor! Likewise, at the very least, Tank made an effort to bring a few things he’d hate to lose. That being; some old photos, his guitar, his laptop, and of course, Edward’s seashell. All stuffed into his gym bag. 

The doctor was completely unaware that his better half often spent nights clutching the spiraling keepsake, almost like it was a roserybead. Doing so, he made happy little prayers of gratitude that someone cared for him so unconditionally. 

With such dedication, Tank eased away restlessness by telling stories to angels while laying in bed, as though sharing his day over the phone.  
For the longest time he hadn’t felt such affection, to speak or stay silent, to hold and be held... any sort of voluntary or loving gesture, to be honest. Giving Peter what he wanted was less of wishing to please, and more about letting his ex winning some invented war. Making Peter happy was surrender of himself.

Because of this, the marine never thought he would find someone any better. 

That if he gave up Peter, he would never have anyone again. 

That he was used up and unwanted. 

That he could fix his partner and things would be perfect.

 

He felt all of this.

 

That is: until he found Edward.

 

Edward was fragile, and kind, and morning walks, and deep conversations, and singing to the popping radio, and seashells. Seashells, mainly; the only tangible evidence of Richtofen’s heartfelt devotion. Proof that he was on the doctor’s mind, even when he were off far, far, away.

Daisy likewise recognized the value in the little souvenir, because whenever Dempsey awoke frantically and verged on a coming panic attack, she’d gently bring the token in her soft mouth. A very simple, ‘you have people who forgive you, that want you in your life, that need you.’ 

 

Needless to say, it often helped. A lot.

 

Daisy was a good dog.

 

As the three walked into the brisk morning air, Tank was equally pleased to see Edward in good spirits. He was worried that his lover’s glass heart had shattered after witnessing the sunken dead. Though, the display of ease simultaneously gave Dempsey some assurance that his lover was indeed innocent. There was a confidence in Richtofen’s alibi, as well as a distinct lacking of coldness. No sort of impression that the doctor would, or even could, be capable of renouncing his hippocratic oath in a place of strangers.

Besides, someone that loves stargazing and gentle kisses couldn’t possibly do such a thing.

Of course, still knowing the answer, Tank checked-in ever so thoughtfully. The thing about Edward, was that his emotions were still unpredictable. What would mean nothing to him one day, could mess with him the next.

 

“You alright after seeing, uh.. that stuff the other day?”

“I am,” he hummed, “It’s not like I haven’t seen the dead before, nor so visceral.”

“Oh, true,” Dempsey nodded with swift understanding. It’s not like he hadn’t seen a corpse before either.

“Why do you ask? Do I seem off?”

“Nah, I was just asking. You kinda avoid telling me when you need something.”

Edward chuckled, “well, I’m fine. To be honest, I was more worried I was seeing things.”

He continued as Dempsey watched his dog while she sniffed around the dry grass, “I am very certain someone is trying to reach me, too. I won’t give them the pleasure of creating an incriminating state of panic.” 

 

The church bell tolled in the distance, causing Edward to lose his focus. He began to worry that Alistair would forget to secure the antiquated thing. In fact, though the ringing often shared a constant reminder of its presence, the sound had actually grown on him. Richtofen would hate to see something happen to such an important part of his life. 

Instead of worrying further, he reached out for the other important part of his life: Dempsey. He clasped his palms tightly, knuckles white, attempting to warm cold fingertips against the wind. Holding hands always lit the doctor’s heart warmly aglow. 

He was always nervous, but at least his little soldier appeared to like it.

 

It was then that Tank got a sudden idea, inspired by said warmth, “hey. Want to make a quick detour?”

“Where did you have in mind?”

The younger man instead pulled for him to follow, “c’mon, it’s cool! I promise.”

 

They strolled along the dirt path, leaves crunching beneath their feet, hand in loveable hand. Richtofen couldn’t help but be curious, but the marine seemed far too interested in being cryptic. This was fine though, secrecy could be endearing in a way. Especially when romantic.

The truth was that Dempsey wanted to share his special place on the bridge. The man had no idea how the old structure would weather the storm, or if it’d remain safe to cross afterwards. Then again, the structure was entirely of brick and stone. 

It would be alright. 

(Probably.)

Regardless, he wanted to remember the bridge ‘as it was,’ before it were changed. This time, though, Edward had to be a part of it. 

 

As the wind picked up, the couple and the sauntering hound arrived. A silent stretch. Almost like the trees and leafage had swallowed all sound in its tangled mass.

The length of the bridge wasn’t very long, nor the width impressive. In fact, it seemed completely arbitrary that a path were even built there in the first place. However, the climbing moss and earthy colors painted peace. The kind of place you would imagine on a grocery store calendar. 

Edward wouldn’t know it, but sharing this special getaway was a grand gesture of trust. The mechanic seldom told anyone of its existence; not even misty, especially not peter, and only in passing to Takeo.

Here, Tank sat on the sturdy ledge, before outstretching his arms upon the panning scene, “this is it!”

Richtofen looked around, starry-eyed, “I’ve never seen this place before.”

“It’s a little old, but nice. ‘Real quiet during the day.”

“Just during the day?”

“Yeah, at night people come down here on those ghost tours,” he quickly added before Richtofen became frightened, “it’s haunted, but in a good way.”

Edward was puzzled, so Tank explained.

“Instead of scary vibes, it’s about being strong and devoted I think.”

“Ah,” he looked over the ledge with curiosity.

 

_‘Too far to jump, but not far enough to give one vertigo. A small street crossing under. Hard asphalt.’_

 

The marine scratched at the back of his neck awkwardly, “this place is kinda important to me. I like to keep it on the down-low.”

With that, Dempsey’s intentions finally clicked in Richtofen’s mind. Perhaps Edward was distracted, or even, too dense to read the situation. Yet with this moment, the truer beauty finally began to set in.

Tank uttered softly, “Maybe if you think of your house like this place, it’ll make you feel better? Since you’re always saying it’s haunted.”

Richtofen smiled, heart fluttering at the attention to his needs and all the little details that came with it, “...I think you’re right. Ghosts, but all of happy memories.”

 

Tank watched his partner as he joined him on the precarious ledge, and swung his long legs pensively. Then, with a deep breath, Edward leaned his head on his beloved’s shoulder and closed his eyes. The smell of his leather jacket and sandalwood shaving cream ingrained an image into Richtofen’s heart. Tank welcomed the romantic snapshot. A keepsake for his beloved’s senses.

Here, wind rushed through the canopies now and then, rustling leaves whose sound created the illusion of that rain had begun to fall. The foggy scene likewise implied it were colder than it actually was. All by the barren trees and downcast glow of greys in the sky. Even more noticeable by the warmth Tank himself felt. No empty spaces here.

Perhaps hurricanes should come more often, Dempsey thought. Although, naturally, the wish only flustered him.

 

As the marine averted his gaze and coughed out the butterflies fluttering in his chest, he couldn’t see the profound gaze of affection Edward rested on the wondrous form. As if there was an instinctual recognition that Tank had been staring, and he loved it.

In a grab for attention, Richtofen clutched tightly onto the American’s hand once again. Pining and heartfelt, listening for every breath that walked.

Tank reciprocated with glee by raising the hand to his lips, and pecking a kiss onto the dark, flushed, skin. One of his partner’s favorite gestures.

 

Edward never looked so happy.

 

\---------

 

When Dempsey presented the gift from Takeo, Richtofen nearly lost his damn mind. The soldier hadn’t know it before, but Edward had an affinity for strawberry jam. After all, autumn was his favorite time to inhale the delicious raw fruit and sugar by the spoon-full. Learning this, Tank couldn’t help but sprinkle in a little credit for himself:

“I helped make it too. We didn’t finish preserving all of it, but we will soon.”

“How thoughtful of you two!,” the doctor cheered with excitement, before teasing, “I figured those paws of yours were of good use.”

“If you want, you could help some time? You can see your dog too,” Dempsey leaned.

“That sounds wonderful,” he smiled in agreement, and stored the jars into his fridge. 

“We also made some for Monty, I’m hoping it’ll help him feel better.”

Richtofen blinked, “I didn’t know he was sick.”

“I mean, it’s only recent. He’s just weak and cold these days. Hell, he couldn’t even stand longer than a few minutes,” Tank frowned, “it’s weird to see him like that. Out-of-character, you know?”

“Oh dear, I hope he’ll be alright...”

“Maybe we can go visit him sometime, just to check in.”

“In that case, I’ll see if I can make him something too,” the doctor shifted to confidence, and rolled up his sleeves for effect.

 

Tank wondered how he got so lucky.

 

“Speaking of which,” Edward perked, “are you hungry?”

The younger man flashed a goofy smile, and snapped a pair of finger guns, “you know I always am.”

The tall figure laughed, but just before reaching into the fridge, Tank presented 2 styrofoam boxes from a plastic bag, “Tank Dempsey to the rescue!”

 

The doctor never imagined cold chinese food would make him feel so full of love. How simple the couple felt when they mirrored their feelings like this.

 

After warming the meal, they both sat criss-cross on the couch, and kept their eyes on the news. Most of it was live video of reporters standing in the wind of the storm, but now and then there’d be an update on the recent disappearances.

Apparently, police had been building a profile on the serial killer, whom they were starting to invent colorful nicknames for. As those who experienced first-hand loss from the events, neither Richtofen or Tank found it amusing. It was hard to grieve when the cause of death was ‘The Blue Ridge Butcher,’ or something else wildly cartoonish and in poor taste. The price to pay when media begins to sensationalize fear, the two thought. 

As for the profile, nothing came as a surprise. Someone with anatomical knowledge, like a butcher, hunter, or doctor. So far, the only victims have been men too, all of whom were complete strangers to one another. At first it seemed as though all the people were alive before severed and discarded into bodies of water, but these days the killer seemed to be getting lazy. A swift gunshot was all it took, but who ever it was, was smart enough to remove the bullet.

 

Naturally, it wasn’t long until the imagery of pessimism became too much for Edward, and he switched on some cartoons. Something about a group of friends saving the day. It wasn’t exactly easy to pay attention. 

 

_[‘You stupid child!’ The villain cackled, ‘you’re nothing but an ordinary human! You alone cannot defeat me!’]_

 

Already, the sky was becoming a turbulent sea, and the wind shook the branches of every forest. At least Dempsey seemed more interested in the tv than the doom and gloom of vicious storms. That was something nice about him, he always focused on the positive.

Still, Edward was having a hard time getting through his meal. Every bite turned circles in his stomach, no matter how slowly he tried. Instead, he moved to put the box on the coffee table. Far away from his senses. Not like the take-out was bad or anything, of course.

 

_[‘But she’s not alone!’ a group appeared behind the girl, ‘she has us!’ The protagonist was teary-eyed as they gathered, ‘guys…’]_

__

Watching his partner only taking a few bites, Tank scooted a little closer to hold the doctor. Richtofen was happy to accept the touch, especially when he felt strong hands rub up and down at his sides. It wasn’t until the younger man snaked his nervous palms under the other’s dress-shirt, that Edward realized Dempsey was palpating his ribs. 

_[In a swift flash of color, the kids raised there wands and sapped the villain of all her power. Left standing in place was another little girl, crying and scared.  
‘She’s just a kid, like us!’] _

“Hey,” Tank uttered with deep sincerity, “please eat.” 

“I’m. Trying,” the German responded softly. 

“Keep trying?” 

“...ok.” 

Richtofen saw a man worried about the one he loves, and didn’t want to see this again. He attempted to eat while ignoring his retching senses. 

_[‘You don’t know what it’s like!’ The villain wailed, ‘to be alone! To hurt like I have! No one wants someone like me!’]_

__Once they finished lunch, Tank took to laying across his beloved’s lap while the show went on. He looked much more relaxed after seeing Edward keep a full serving down._ _

Cradling the marine’s head, this was an advantageous place for Richtofen to play with Dempsey’s soft caramel hair. A rare opportunity, when the soldier was often unreceptive to this type of handling. The tresses felt like feathers when he didn’t put product in it. Though, he looked handsome no matter how he fashioned himself. 

_[An outstretched hand appeared into the frame as the protagonist smiled softly, ‘even if people don’t understand, you don’t deserve to be alone.’]_

Slowly, a gentle downpour of rain rolled in, one which soon became heavy sheets. The muted sun and water droplets sailing down the sliding door left a speckled light to overtake the room. Colors became desaturated as the tv hummed a rhythmic buzz. 

Edward stared out to the waterfall which painted his room so artfully. 

_[‘After what I’ve done to you. How can someone like me ever have friendship like yours?’ The villain wept._

__

__

_The protagonist smiled brightly as the group of friends helped the villain to her feet, ‘just be yourself!’]_

__“If I still wasn’t sick it would be nice to go out,” Richtofen sighed wistfully._ _

__A playful energy quickly sparked Dempsey’s interest, “If you’re already sick, what do you have to lose?”_ _

__“I’ll get worse?” he gestured vaguely._ _

__Regardless, the marine stood with Daisy, who wagged her tail lightly, “Daze thinks it’s a good idea!”_ _

__Edward wasn’t convinced as his partner slid open the door coercively. Although, his four legged companion took advantage and sped out ahead._ _

__“Wait for me!” Tank called, and she glided to a stop in the splashing mud._ _

__

__Richtofen clutched his knees to his chest while he watched the two play. Dempsey was truly wonderful. Someone so exciting and free-spirited. Someone he wanted to know everything about. However, this only made Edward question himself. Were his feelings enough to call it ‘love’?_ _

__At the very least, there was no doubt in he or anyone else’s mind that Edward pined for his lover’s attention. He knew that he craved Dempsey’s happiness, he knew that every mundane chore felt romantic with Tank beside him._ _

__Could he say that he loved him? Not yet, but he still wanted everything that came with it, here and now._ _

__

_{{‘Just be yourself!’}}_

__Without warning, Tank felt his lover’s arms pull him into a soggy hug from behind._ _

__“Hey, stranger,” was all he said with a flushed grin._ _

__“Let’s dance,” Richtofen smiled humbly into the crook of Dempsey’s neck._ _

__Wordlessly, the man ablogied by turning to take both of the trembling hands into his own. The two laughed playfully as the swayed without rhythm or any sort of serious intentions. They twirled and bowed as Daisy did the same, and all three couldn’t even register the icy sting of the cold rainfall. Stomping in mud, running across the slippery soft grass, rocking themselves into tight hugs, holding one another's face nose to nose._ _

__All until they closed the distance._ _

__Dempsey knew how much Edward adored his kisses. It always started out slow and calculated. He’d hold the doctor’s head close and pass his fingers through the dark hair. Easing in to see exactly what Richtofen was looking for. This time, he pulled the American’s waist closely to his own and kissed back with a needy sigh. Tank could only chuckle, it was obvious that his lover wished for proximity._ _

__The soldier grazed his lips on Edward’s burning shoulder and hummed gentle vibration. He giggled at the ticklish feeling, even more so when Dempsey’s cold hands searched for more warmth underneath Richtofen’s soaked top. Encouraged by laughter, he moved back to the German’s lips to offer is searching tongue. The taller man pulled him closer as molded a smile. A slow pace in their attention to one another, simply running their fingers across bodies. Deepening their french kiss._ _

__“How are you so warm,” Tank sighed between breaths._ _

__Sometimes Edward’s palms roamed over the soldier’s chest, sometimes he’d heave him closer. It was like he attempted to siphon romanticism through well-kneaded touch. Dempsey particularly seemed to enjoy having the back of his throat grasped closer, Richtofen’s fingers caressing the small hairs on the nape of his neck. There was giggling, and contented mewls. If only it could last forever._ _

__

__Of course, Daisy wanted some attention of her own, and threw herself between the couple._ _

__Tank, having known her for so long, was prepared for the intrusion. Edward, however, was sent to the ground with a splash. There was no way in hell that he’d ever be able to get the stains of grass and mud out after today._ _

__“You ok?” the soldier laughed, and tried to help him up._ _

__“I’m alright, don’t worry!”_ _

__

__As the doctor stood, a loud rumble of shifting earth shook his senses. Like trees turning up their roots, and rocks tumbling circles. A guttural moan of the mountains._ _

__“W. What’s that?” Richtofen spoke, clutching his beloved’s arm for safety._ _

__“Huh?” Dempsey blinked, settling his dog’s excited bouncing._ _

__“It sounds like an earthquake!”_ _

__Alarmed, Dempsey looked out to the blue ridge, searching for a landslide which scarred the hills._ _

__

__Yet, there was nothing._ _

__

__The marine still expressed his fear, “maybe we should go inside. It sounds like the mountains aren’t holding up to the rain,” just because he couldn’t see it, didn’t mean it wasn’t there._ _

__“Good idea,” Edward laughed anxiously._ _

__

__\--------_ _

__

__The searing heat of the bath water was just what the pair needed after their ballet in the freezing rain. The mirror was fogged and the air was dense, but it soothed taught muscles something like a sauna._ _

__Frankly, Dempsey wasn’t surprised to find bath salts and bubbles in Edward’s possession. Although it seemed the doctor opted out of many luxuries, the comfort of eucalyptus and lavender seemed far too necessary for nerves strung like his. It was nice, Tank would agree, but even more so that the two could share the products of self care together._ _

__There was an initial shyness in sharing a bath, of course; but bearing their skin seemed to be a trivial fear compared to how they bore their feelings. The two felt like divine creatures, understanding the wonderful contentedness to lay vulnerable, and in the arms of someone you trust. Skin to thick skin. Brow to speckled shoulder. Richtofen never knew the light freckles dusted even more hidden places. A wonderful secret._ _

__

__Here, Edward pressed his cold lips to the easing back, and sighed blissfully._ _

__“You alright?” Tank asked softly._ _

__“Very,” he said, and the American felt the kiss mold into a smile while Richtofen checked, “is this fine?”_ _

__Dempsey simply leaned back into Richtofen's chest, “it’s fine. I kinda love it.”_ _

__He felt his partner respond with action as he tightened his hug, and pressed more lazy, cool, kisses to his body. Sometimes resting still to meditate on their steady synchronized breaths._ _

__Or focusing his lips on the old wound which marked Tank’s back._ _

__Or caressing the tattoo on his shoulder._ _

__Or resting his chin on the soldier’s dreamy head._ _

__

__Only the running tap sounded loudly, the building winds from outside completely muffled._ _

__

__“You ever been down tunnel road?” Dempsey asked suddenly._ _

__“Of course,” Richtofen nodded, frequenting the path into town._ _

__“I hate that place. It’s weird.”_ _

__Edward was confused, “it seems like a normal tunnel to me.”_ _

__“I dunno, there’s something wrong about it.”_ _

__Just then, Richtofen maintained his curiosity with familiar instinctive repulsion, “does it seem dangerous?”_ _

__“Yeah. Like it’s going to cave in, or get blocked off.”_ _

__“...If it helps, that road looks far too sturdy.”_ _

__Dempsey didn’t look convinced._ _

__“What about unnatural?” The doctor continued to try._ _

__“That too, like, I’m driving way too fast. Everyone is. It makes my head spin.”_ _

__Edward held his thoughtful silence for a long moment, until working up the courage to confess, “you remember that experiment in my living room?”_ _

__“I do, find what you were looking for?”_ _

__“Well...yes and no. I thought there was something wrong with the river, and there was. That’s how I knew to look for a body there.”_ _

__Tank blinked incredulously._ _

__“But now that the water is safe again, something still seems off. Like it shouldn’t be flowing. Or there’s something at the bottom.”_ _

__“Was there?”_ _

__“No, the body was in the reeds. What’s worse is I don’t know if I can say with confidence if this is just another delusion or not.”_ _

__“I guess since it became true in a way, it would be kinda hard to think otherwise. If it helps, the river flows past my place too, and I’ve never seen anything weird.”_ _

__Edward acknowledged the funny mirror the two had built once again with a chuckle._ _

__“Not even the part that runs into town, or by Tak and Nikolai’s place,” Dempsey added after some careful consideration._ _

__“Exactly where does this river end?”_ _

__“Hm. I dunno? It comes down from the mountains, and I can see it from the garage, but I can’t say I’ve seen the end of it.”_ _

__“Perhaps a lake?”_ _

__“Maybe Santahleeah or Fontana dam,” Tank speculated, and then rubbed the doctor’s thin wrists, “you must have been thinking about this for a long time. You were messing with that river since I’ve met you.”_ _

__“Yes, well. My point is you’re not alone. I understand your fears.”_ _

__“...Thanks Eddie,” he smiled, and pecked a happy kiss onto the doctor’s cheek._ _

__

__Richtofen happily slid opposite of Dempsey, “what has tunnels on your mind, anyway?”_ _

__Tank hummed, “I was just thinkin; when something bugs me I’ll just come back here. In my head, I mean.”_ _

__“Where do you usually go?”_ _

__“I dunno, I guess it’s different every time. I like thinking about other people’s stories, like whatever their routine it is. It’s distracting enough.”_ _

__“...Is something bothering you now?”_ _

__“Nah, not anymore,” he smiled brightly._ _

__After the two sank a little deeper into boiling water, the marine posed, “do you go somewhere? You have to be, the way you look like you’re far away sometimes.”_ _

__“Of course,” the doctor nodded thoughtfully, “I’m thinking of home.”_ _

__“Where’s home?”_ _

__“Oh, a lot of places. Here, Germany, France, Canada for a short time..” he sang, caught in nostalgia._ _

__“You used to live in France?” Dempsey smirked, amused._ _

__“Yes.”_ _

__“Can you speak French?”_ _

__“I can.”_ _

__“...that’s kinda hot.”_ _

__“I will drown you,” Richtofen deadpanned._ _

__The marine snorted, and Edward couldn’t help but mess his hair in defiance._ _

__Tank still perked, “but seriously, that’s super cool. I’ve only been wherever the service took me.”_ _

__

__Here, the two found that home was a feeling above all else. It could be family, or being needed, or just being comfortable._ _

__

__(This was nothing profound, nor was it a special revelation.)_ _

__

__Although, as of late, when Richtofen slid to the back of his mind, Dempsey was always there. It was exciting; so much so, that just thinking of the American as a home, or even, that he loved the younger man, gave him goosebumps._ _

__

__Dempsey had recognized this as he felt the hairs on Edward’s limbs prick at his warm skin. However, before his partner could say anything, the doctor was startled when he saw the bathroom door open on its own. To their relief, it was quickly revealed to be Daisy sticking her nose into the steaming room._ _

__As she strolled in, paws still muddied and fur thick with rain, Dempsey frowned, “you’ll get your turn girl, I told you to stay.”_ _

__Yet, strangely enough, she maintained her approach, completely ignoring the command._ _

__“Oh HELL no- Daze, stay,” he started to panic as Daisy put her paws up on the edge of the tub. He didn’t want to push the old girl over, worried she’ll hurt herself against the porcelain, but now Richtofen had joined his boyfriend in the effort to keep her away, his palms waving a stern ‘go!’ while he begged._ _

__Still, frantic no’s did not dissuade her. In a heavy motion, she hopped over the ledge to join them in the soothing water. All she did was spin herself around a few times to grow comfortable among the bubbles, and sat right between the two. She looked completely oblivious as she panted happily among the dense heat._ _

__

__The American could only whine as the mud on her paws mixed into the water, “oh c’mon Daze.”_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...I love romantic cliches, don't test me.  
>  Magical girl media is so good for kids.


	29. Evening in Strasburg II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A long night for two!

Edward sat next to Dempsey, and ruffled his hair with the thick bath-towel. 

“It’s much easier to dry you off than Daisy,” Richtofen said playfully.

“She has more hair than me, Eddie.”

The doctor snorted a laugh as the towel was grabbed from his hands.

 

The pair were now completely new; dressed in warm, clean, clothes after their long soak. Tank looked particularly handsome in a simple black shirt, slightly sight against his skin, while Edward wore the baggy mustard sweater Nikolai had lent him a long time ago. To be honest, he was very reluctant to return it at this point.

Despite this, the moment was that of a psychological reset both craved. Even more so, when sharing the moment made them feel closer. How pleased they were with one-another.

Outside, the heavy winds rattled the windows, and whistled lowly through the little corners of the home. It sounded as though the storm were finally in full force. The already dry leaves of autumn were now being shaken from the bending trees, and sheets of rain came down in waves against the rooftop. 

In the distance, Richtofen swore he could hear the church bell ringing and banging erratically, but it wasn’t quite clear over the groaning home.

 

Still, the hurricane which sang the night into slumber admittedly made the pair sleepy. A lullaby unlike any other, placing their hearts in the calm eye of the storm. Their eyelids became so heavy, that it grew harder and harder to hold themselves up. The hot bath that messaged weary muscles did little to awaken their senses. Dempsey had made a silent prayer to the fish in the river, and the deer in the hills, that they could rest easy tonight too. It was endearing. 

Regardless, heaven knows neither would let nature win the battle of fatigue. Even as the doctor lay with his beloved, nosing himself into Tank’s soft stomach. As for Daisy, however, she didn’t seem to care about battles; plopped on her side and completely tuckered out. 

Even when a loud crack of snapping wood sounded from outside, she didn’t stir. Instead, she snored a little louder, causing her master to chuckle. He felt a little bad that his old girl hadn’t had a day out like this in a really long time.

“If that branch hit my car-“ Richtofen threatened as he attempted to see from the distorted window. He didn’t see much more than the streetlight shining through the dense downpour of night. Like the window was made of frosted glass.

Of course, he didn’t want to stand. Dempsey was far too comfortable.

“I don’t mind fixing it again,” Tank joked about the sudan, to which the doctor rolled his eyes.

“I wouldn’t mind watching you do all the work again.”

The younger man laughed at the nostalgic memory, and stretched his spine before moving to hug Richtofen closer, “not lookin’ forward to the cleanup tomorrow, though. Digging up mud and trees? No thanks.”

Just then, Edward appeared lost in an embarrassing fantasy of a very strong Dempsey, labouring like a real American. Thank god mind reading was only fiction, as the doctor would probably self-immolate on behalf of the overwhelmingly gay sentiments which ran through his head. 

The lovers stared at the ceiling, focusing on the turbulent sounds around them. Richtofen could hear the same shift of earth and mud and uprooted trees from earlier, but Tank didn’t seem alarmed. The German trusted his lover’s judgement though. (Not like they could run away from an unstoppable force like that. At least if the two died, they could say they had a great last hour.)

Even so, the retching sounds of landslides were unnerving. Almost like hearing a distant ambulance siren, and having no idea where it’s coming from until suddenly it’s behind you. 

Now it’s blaring the horn for you to get the hell out of their way, because they have more important things to deal with, and it’ll be your fault if someone dies because help came late.

 

It wasn’t until the rumble and flash of white shook the room, that Tank raised himself abruptly. His better half didn’t enjoy the rough shift which accompanied this.

“Sorry, Doc. I should be heading to bed.”

Richtofen fiddled with his thumbs, rising with him, “you could. Stay here, if you’d like. With me.”

He hesitated for a long moment, “that’s ok, I brought a sleeping bag.”

 

Frankly, the rejection would have been disappointing to the German. However, a part of him understood Tank’s motivations. 

Therefore, he still tried, tripping over the awkward romance, “I mean, you said you hate storms. I don’t want you to be. Um. Lonesome.” 

“Trust me, I’ll be alright,” Dempsey smiled brightly, a perceivable sense of anxiety behind the facade. 

Richtofen only lowered his gaze wordlessly.

“...I’ll see you in the morning, ok?” 

“Goodnight,” Edward muttered, feeling as though an ‘I love you’ should have, at the very least, been the punctuation.

Dempsey pressed a kiss to Richtofen’s forehead, pushing hairs away from his face to do so properly, “G’night, Eddie.”

He and his Daisy made their way into the hall, and flipped the lights off for Richtofen. 

 

With a sigh, Edward collapsed backwards into the comforter. He could still see a glow of the streetlight keeping him company in the dark. Along with the occasional flash of lightning and distant bell. The German was at least grateful knowing his boyfriend’s safety. He knew what a trigger to do to a solitary man.

Despite this, storms were always a complicated thing to endure for himself as well, especially at this time of year. All Richtofen could think of was his parent’s funeral. Standing over the waxed oak coffins. Plastic flowers adorning wreaths. Thunder and lightning. Eyes of distant relatives staring at him, blaming him. 

 

He agreed, too. 

 

Samantha had tried her best to comfort her brother, but in the end, it was too much even for her. Things were so different without the ridiculous theories Maxis threw around at dinner, or Sophia painting brilliant colors from the backyard while rambling about ‘incompetent’ co-workers. 

 

The house became very quiet.

 

Likewise, while the pair grieved, they were essentially attached at the hip. A subtle fear that if they spent time apart, that they’d lose each other too. 

It came to the point where Samantha dropped out of school to take care of the two’s affairs. There were obligations to take care of, bills to pay, their mom’s company to manage. Edward had offered his help numerous times, but his sister always insisted she was the oldest. That he become a doctor and learn to cope with his neurosis. That if she saw him lose his passion, there’d be nothing left.

 

Sam would have made a great doctor, he often thought, but she never got the chance to return to college. 

 

There was a lot she never got to do, all because of him. 

 

Edward thought of himself like a parasite which sucked away all his sister’s aspirations. She already had to throw away part of herself to be seen as a professional. No colorful socks or monster movies or ball caps.  
Now everything left of her was to balance their remaining stability, almost like a circus seal with a ball. 

 

Shaking the etch-a-sketch in his brain, Richtofen tried to stop thinking about guilt. About killing his parents, about killing Sam.

 _“It’s okay to say you miss your family,”_ he recalled Doctor Monty saying a long time ago. Though, the context was long forgotten, it still resonated.

Richtofen was desperate to see his sister. However, this literally meant suicide. He could only imagine showing up to the gates of heaven, only to have her slap in so hard in the face, that he’d boomerang back to his earthly corpse.

 

It was his willingness to die that got her there, after all.

 

At the very least, there was no question in his mind that Samantha still loved him. 

At the end of everything. 

 

Edward rubbed his eyes, not realizing he had been crying. Not to mention, after checking the clock, he found that a few hours had past. Time flies when you’re lost in old photographs.

With a disappointed frown, he quickly decided to go downstairs for some water. His dry throat only became worsened by nausea. 

Richtofen used his phone to light a flashlight into the hall, and tread lightly across the linoleum.

 

When his tall figure reached the downstairs kitchen, he found Daisy across the room, laying on top of Dempsey while he played on his phone. 

“Can’t sleep?” The marine chuckled as the light was turned on.

“You either, apparently,” he smirked back, and poured himself a drink. 

Watching a little closer, he saw Tank’s eyes were a little red. Had he been crying? No, the thought would be too much to accept. The doctor was already enveloped by guilt, he didn’t want to think that his love was in need, and he was not there. It was probably the light of his screen irritating his eyes, or he had been smoking. 

...Hopefully not the latter, with police already breathing down the German’s neck, a drug charge was the last thing he needed.

 

“You alright?” Richtofen still asked.

“I am. Are...you?”

“I am.”

 

Almost on cue, the lights in the kitchen flickered until shutting off, the heating system and refrigerator fan silencing with it. 

 

In the dark, the two held still and quiet for a few long moments.

 

“...want to go upstairs?” Dempsey sounded bluntly.

“I’ll get some candles.”

 

————

 

The couple sat on Edward’s bed, a circle of various candle-sticks and tea-lights, set as if they were about to do a seance. Partially true, as death was on both of their minds. 

 

At the same time, Tank kept a small portable radio by his side, and turned it to a low volume. With the white-noise of static, the lovers spent the night chatting away.

 

“Promise you won’t laugh,” Richtofen said shyly between bites of popcorn.

“Shoot,” Dempsey nodded, and caught a few pieces in his mouth.

“When I first got here, I had so many boxes of old things,” he scratched, “it was so upsetting that I gathered everything that reminded me of my family, and burned it.”

“Like, in a firepit? Where?”

“Backyard,” Edward shrugged.

The soldier leaned back thoughtfully, “maybe I should do that with Peter’s old stuff.”

“Fire is therapeutic, I think.”

 

The shorter of the two reflected for a few long moments, before mirroring his beloved;

“Promise you won't laugh at me?” 

“Never!”

“I didn’t want to be alone tonight. I was just nervous.”

Edward blinked, “nervous?”

“Well, you already know I have an issue with. Uh. Noises. The way I deal with it gets unpredictable.”

“You have Daisy to help you, at least.”

Dempsey looked to the retriever, watching him from the end of the bed, “she calms me down, but there’s some things she can’t change.”

Richtofen put his hand over Tank’s own, a show of support, to which the American accepted into his palms.

“May I ask what happened? While you served, I mean.”

His partner only cast his gaze aside, looking uncomfortable.

“...or you can tell me to mind my own business,” he joked, trying to loosen the tense air.

The mechanic smirked, “nah, I just don’t know how to start. What’s too much and what’s too little.”

Richtofen only leaned on Dempsey’s shoulder while he gathered his thoughts.

“I dunno. I just joined ‘cause I didn’t have a lot of options after high school. Kinda wish I didn’t.”

“Being an ‘American Hero’ seems to suit you, why do you say that?”

Tank scoffed.

“I don’t know much about foreign affairs-“ Edward confessed to the sarcastic response.

“You don’t need to. People died that shouldn’t have. Just normal, scared, people.”

“Don’t tell me you were happy to get shot,” the doctor scrunched his brow.

And so Dempsey explained:

 

Tank was hardly an adult, just a guy in his early 20’s, naive and clueless about the world around him. It was a sunny day when it happened, too; perfect visibility for soldiers to make their advance. However, it still proved a challenge despite the ideal weather. 

 

_Dempsey stood in the wake of the dusty scene which stirred around him, heavy with the weight of combat fatigues and gear. Lost? Or forgotten? Not sure._

 

Among smoke and dust and sand and gunshots, Dempsey sprinted to safety just as his rifle failed him. He was un-armed and afraid as he dashed for cover in the desert town. Adrenaline pumped viciously, leaving the soldier unaware he was already hit.

 

_No destination besides ‘not here.’_

 

It wasn’t until he turned his last corner, that Tank finally saw a gun pointed straight at his heaving frame. 

 

_A monster, a lion, an enemy?_

 

However, to his distress, it was nothing but a child protecting their younger sibling. 

How he ached to see the display. Just a kid.

 

_He stepped back, boots becoming drenched by water as it gave slightly to his weight.  
Afraid to go forward, he instead reached out to the two siblings._

 

The kid was trembling when he fired into Dempsey’s chest. Only a few moments later did the marine fell to his knees. He didn’t blame them, he couldn’t. He was there to make them afraid. Just some kids.

 

_With this, hot iron burned through his chest, tearing through skin and bone. Lungs struggling as they attempted to inhale the blood which filled them. The water around him becoming a swirl if red and aqua paint as he collapsed into the second sky._

 

His countrymen heard the shot, and quickly ran to their fallen friend. Tank was losing blood fast, and his vision spun in and out of conscious. A weak ‘stop’ was all he could make out in labored breaths.

 

_Then, as Dempsey witnessed the two children floating down beside him, streaming red just as he was, his reflexes instinctively gasped for air._

 

“T. The kids-”

“Yeah,” Dempsey uttered flatly.

“Why would someone do that?!”

“They thought those kids killed me.”

Edward was distressed as he thought matters over very carefully, but his desensitized partner wasn’t finished.

“When I woke up with the medic, I was so glad that I’d never have to deal with something like that again. Being shot was way less painful than thinking about. Uh. Doing that again.”

Richtofen squeezed Tank’s arm a little tighter, and kissed the anxious skin with compassion, “you know, when you’re a doctor, you can’t save every patient. That doesn’t make me a murder.”

He rolled his eyes, and took another handful of popcorn, “yeah, but you’re trying to help them. I was just there to kill whatever got in the way.”

 

It was indeed complicated, the intricate way propaganda created the promise of glory, only for violence. Dangling opportunities like an education or honest pay in the faces of young boys with nowhere to go. Almost like dangling a juicy steak in front of a starving lion. Cruel, but what else could one expect if the lion is taunted for so long? 

Just violence. 

 

Even, the case stood that even in the moment of weakness, Tank’s morality overtook his orders. He called his countrymen to stop. He was not vengeful. Richtofen tried very hard to ingrain this into his partner’s heart. 

Although, in the end, post-traumatic was far more complicated than feelings of guilt. One conversation couldn’t erase years of struggle.

 

Tank quickly snapped into his ‘nothing-is-wrong’ tone, “but! That’s the past. I got my Karma, and I’m going to take it.”

Edward frowned as he tried to put the words together, “my sister. One of the last things she told me, she said, ‘just because you’re going along with something, doesn’t mean you’re giving in.’ You can accept your past, but please don’t believe that things will never change for the better.”

“...what was your sister’s name?”

“Samantha.”

“Samantha sounds smart.”

 

Richtofen pecked more kisses on Dempsey’s arms, then shoulder, then jaw. Wordless affirmations of Dempsey’s worth. 

“Sorry for killing the mood,” the marine laughed at the ticklish feeling.

“No, no. It’s fine, I promise,” smiling.

Daisy crawled over to rest upon the couple’s laps, “I think things would be a hell of a lot worse without Daze, though.”

She licked some crumbs off his cheek, “oh c’mon!”

The German reached out to pet her silky fur, “yes, she’s beautiful.”

“I know,” he spoke proudly, “smart too. You know she used to bite Peter? Not even for any particular reason.”

The doctor snorted a giggle, “what a brilliant girl!”

The mechanic moved his hand from the golden coat to stroke the sides of Edward’s hair, “thanks for looking out for me.”

“You don’t have to thank me for something like that.”

“What else could I do? It ain’t exactly easy to trust people these days.”

“Ah, well. I suppose a kiss would suffice.”

Tank rolled his eyes playfully and kissed the doctor’s warm forehead, “goofball.”

Richtofen snickered as he wiggled himself into the American’s inviting arms; Daisy scooting over thoughtfully.

“Hey, Dempsey?” he said softly with a yawn, drifting off to sleep.

“Hmm?”

“Today’s my birthday.”

“...your WHAT.”

Edward squeaked a small, “oh dear-”

“Why didn’t you tell me?!”

“I didn’t want you to do anything!”

“Now I have to.”

“Please don’t.”

Tank eased, and let his head fall back into the pillow, “...you’re really something.”

“I know,” Richtofen yawned again.

 

———

 

The next morning, everyone emerged from their homes like animals from hibernation. The cool aesthetics of fall had returned to its former self, and the sky was clear and bright. Edward was extremely pleased to see his car hadn’t been crushed, however, the banyan tree which dropped it looked like it had been through hell.

 

Regardless, waking up with Dempsey felt like all he ever asked for. The way the sunrise filtered through the blinds, and kissed his freckled skin. His arm draped over Edward’s chest. 

Richtofen played with the marine’s hair as he counted the seconds between each breath. In the night, he heard Tank stirring in his dreams to the flashing storm. Likewise, Edward himself had a hard time dozing off with such a beautiful man in his sights.

Instead, he resolved to gently caressing Dempsey’s anxious face. A subtle hope that it would reach his dreams. Richtofen had once heard the sounds and touch could reach someone who was unconscious, but he was fairly certain this was in reference to those in a coma. 

He didn’t know if it worked; Daisy seemed far smarter when it came to moments like these.

 

Finally, Edward heard a deep sigh from his sleeping lover, and a low hum of contentedness.

“Are we awake?”

“We are,” he smirked, eyes still closed, “did I keep you up?”

“Not at all, you slept like a baby,” he lied.

Tank reached for his phone on the floor, and frowned at the screen, “no internet?”

“I’m afraid the power is still out.”

With a groan, Dempsey collapsed back into Edward’s arms, “wake me when it comes on again.”

Another giggle from Richtofen, and he let his soldier sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In Strasburg, France there's this AMAZING astronomical clock built in the 1800s that shows the planets, sun, and moon's exact locations with beautiful and super complex automatons that interact as time goes by! The one that's up now is the third one, but the first one was made in the 1300s. Amazing when you consider the first telescope was made in the 1600s...It's super cool, I used to be really into watch mechanics when I was little :^)
> 
> Anyway, if you recognize the quotes they're all from Dempsey's dream in "Emotional Landmines!" Finally explaining it..  
> You can smell how Anti-War I am!


	30. Prowl, Great Cain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And I feel guilty,  
> but I can't feel ashamed.  
> Prowl through empty fields,  
> Great Cain.

Tank shifted uncomfortably in the front seat of Nikolai’s car, “I still don’t know about this,” he confessed lowly.

With a heavy pat on the back, his Russian friend assured him, “trust me, a dog is just what you need!”

“What if none of them like me?”

“Puppies like everyone, Dempsey. Your delays won’t work.”

With a huff, he groaned and leaned against the window, gazing at the painted foliage of autumn that zoomed by.

 

It had been almost 2 years since Tank returned to the Carolinas from the Middle East. The young man had long settled in by now, but something still felt wrong. Something turning over his stomach.

As wonderful as it was to reunite with old friends, the young man was embarrassed to show them the person he had become. No longer was Dempsey his excitable and boisterous self, no longer one for long hikes or fishing. Instead, he was more lost in thought than ever, more still, even more reflective (as Takeo often observed.) 

Tank justified that staying inside all day made him bored. ‘As simple as that,’ he claimed. It was not like he had a choice, either: the shot to his chest weakened his heart, and made all sorts of movement an exhausting chore. Hell, he couldn’t even work until he finished physical therapy. The lack of purpose only made him stir-crazy and restless.

 

Still, his friends knew him well, and it was obvious that Dempsey had been trying very hard to keep himself together. It was nearly impossible to get him to see a doctor, just as it was impossible for Nikolai to bring the mechanic to his old friend’s home. They had witnessed the episodes, the nighterrors, the anxiety. They knew what was really going on.

In fact, it was a recent depressive episode that made his Russian companion step in, and call in a certain favor. The perks of working with veterinarians and shelters, was the resources Nikolai had at his disposal. This time, all to help Tank heal. 

Naturally, the older man trusted animals above all else to watch over his best friend.

 

Misty, who was in the backseat with Takeo, suddenly kicked Dempsey’s chair, “what are you complaining about, it’s a free dog!”

“I ain’t complaining, just anxious,” he shooed her heavy boots away, “Peter wasn’t exactly thrilled when I told him. ‘Said it’ll just use up our pension.”

“He’ll change his mind when he sees it,” Takeo spoke with confidence, “you should find pride in your resilience.”

“Yea!” Misty chipped in, “ignore him.”

“I...guess. No vests, though. I don’t think I’m ready to carry a giant sign on a leash that says ‘this guy can snap,’ you know?”

“Baby steps,” the islander nodded.

“You do whatever is most comfortable, just say thank you instead of fighting it,” Nikolai joked.

“...thanks, guys.”

 

Tank was fortunate to have good friends. 

 

The thing about trauma and shame as a soldier, is that it’s far different to manage than other cases. There was the ingrained sense of toxic masculinity the army bred, which made searching for help into something more like pulling teeth. It didn’t help when he lived with a man that enforced the antiquated mantra by the day. Emotional teathers Tank refused to acknowledge. Besides, there’s others that have it far, far, worse. He had nothing to complain about...right?

 

Regardless, as Tank agreed to taking in a dog to train as his partner, his friends thought him stronger than ever. They missed the old Dempsey.

 

It was then that the four pulled into the driveway of a small cottage; trees burning orange and vibrant in dry leaves, fat and happy chickens strolling about. Rooster tails more that of a peacocks. Beautiful and unabashed in the dramatic display of color. A nice little garden nestled between the forest and the hills, like beatrix potter constructed it from the pages of her mother goose tales. All framed by a wide old willow, draping it’s vines into the earth like nails in dirt.

“Vanya!” Nikolai called to a woman standing on the porch, and the two started conversing warmley in Russian.

“How exactly does Nik know this gal?” Tank whispered to Takeo, looking over the stranger.

“He used to date her before she transitioned.”

Dempsey smirked, “oh? You ain’t jealous, are you?”

“I trust Nikolai,” he said very seriously.

With a laugh, the marine shoved playfully, “I’m just kidding!”

 

Accompanying the woman was an excited golden retriever. Coat smooth and soft, fur which bounced with his excited movements. It reminded Tank of his childhood dog, though, that was a long time ago.

“C’mere! Good boy!” He cooed sweetly, and the thing came barreling into his arms. Dempsey was laughing as he tried to settle the boisterous wagging.

“You must be Tank, yes?” The woman smiled, accent thicker than Nikolai’s.

“Yea,” he brushed himself off, and stood to shake her hand, “thanks for letting us come.”

“Is no problem; come. See puppies,” she waved a ‘follow-me’ motion.

Dempsey looked to his friends, and they nodded their affirmations. Therefore, he followed the woman to a gardening shed in the backyard. 

Both the doors were thrown wide open, and he could see the mom surrounded by 4 very sleepy puppies. It was only 10 in the morning, and they were already tired out? Heaven knows what he was getting into, Tank wondered. 

As the two grew closer, the puppies began to stir; curious about the new scent that approached. Then soon, with excited jumps and wagging which shook their entire bodies, Dempsey was swarmed.

For the first time in a long time, the marine was euphoric as he kneeled down to the excited crowd. It was like he were a kid again, and his mom was letting him pick out his first dog.

“They’re so big!” He exclaimed.

“Mother is strong!” She said proudly.

 

Tank played with the pups, and soon, the jinggling tags and yips brought his friends to join.

“See? They like you already,” Misty said matter-of-factly, and leaned to join the tug of war the puppies began to play with her laces.

Just then, the soldier looked out to the pasture of wild grass that expanded over the horizon, “can I walk them?”

“Yes, not far please,” Nikolai’s friend nodded.

Happily, he led the noisy pack into the fields. By the end of his excursion, he would find his soul-mate. 

 

The sun beat down on the golden stretch of land, so much so, that Dempsey was surprised the pups hadn’t camouflaged among the foliage. 

There were moths and insects flying above the disturbed grass. Occasionally, he found large boulders disguised underfoot. The marine nearly tripped over them several times already. He was just glad to be alone.

Despite this, it wasn’t long until he found a small treasure, a stream trickling across the way from the forest. Here, Tank kept particular watch to see if the puppies enjoyed water; an effort to narrow down the perfect creatures before him. The marine loved the water; beach, lake, he didn’t care. A pup that could swim was a mutt.

...Yet, all four sipped and splashed playfully into the clear creek. Dempsey chuckled. He recalled vaguely reading retrievers were bred to, well, retrieve. The breed lived to please their human, and if it meant swimming into a cold pond to bring the wild goose a hunter shot down, then they’d do it. 

Loyalty and devotion were just as important as liking water, Tank agreed.

 

By now, it must had nearly been mid-day, as the rays of sun spiked his freckled skin. Though the mountain air was brisk and cool, he was growing uncomfortable without shade.

 

And that’s all it took. 

A single bead of sweat down his forehead. Nothing else. 

And his body went into panic.

 

Tank gasped when all the air left his lungs, it felt like someone shoved their fingers into his stitched wounds, and twisted it. His chest tightened as if someone was trying to string out his thick arteries into a rope. All being pulled from a single pore in his skim.

Dempsey choked on uneven breaths and knelt into the weeds, now invisible. The blinding and unbearable sun was less intense from here, but the scent of smoke and fire still peppered the air.

Biting hard into his lips, he tried to emotionally restrain himself, but doing so only hurt worse. His mind was on the B side of a record, repeating over and over in a faulty attempt to send his head elsewhere. It was to no avail, and small reluctant teardrops fell. His crystal eyes spoke absolutely nothing.

 

Dempsey knew where he was, he knew. But his heaving form didn’t listen. To the body, he was back in the middle east. Sweat down his forehead, fire, noise, strobes of white light. Sensory suffocation. Regret.

 

It was then that the grass before him shuffled. He was frightened until one of the puppies stuck it’s head into the space Tank cleared under his weight. The marine blinked away watering eyes, and gazed at the yellow pup that forced itself into his lap. Dempsey squeezed it in his arms, “you have it good, dog.”

He then held it in front of his face and smiled softly, “there’s only cotton and naps in that little head of yours, huh?” 

It only licked the salty tears down his cheeks.

The glistening tag around her neck jingled more, and the man turned it over in his hand.

‘Daisy.’ 

Most likely a tribute to the wildflowers sprouting in her rural home. A flower that is resilient and adaptive. A symbol of purity and innocence and kindness. A flower found everywhere and anywhere; exactly Tank was looking for.

 

Dempsey squeezed the puppy into his arms again, and returned to the farm.

 

\------

 

It was just about lunch time when Tank arrived home with his new dog. Although Nikolai lent him a leash, the man hadn’t let go of the golden pup since he picked her up. In fact, she almost fell asleep in the gentle cradle of strong arms on the way home. Takeo and Misty were likewise thrilled to see how natural the relationship appeared. 

Reluctantly, Dempsey had to confess that his Russian friend was right; maybe a dog was just what he needed.

 

When he unlocked the door to his apartment, a shuffle of balancing the creature and his jingling keys, Tank found peter sitting by the kitchen island. Here, he leaned into his work with intensity, using a magnifying glass as he fiddled with one of his radios.

“Hey,” he said in his usual bored tone, not looking up from the delicate task at hand.

“Hey,” Dempsey smiled, “guess what I got?”

McCain looked up to see small retriever in Tank’s arms, “oh, you went through with it.”

“Yeah, her names Daisy! Come see!”

The man left his work aside and slid over into the living space, separated only by the change in flooring. As Tank set her down, she began sniffing the ground. It wasn’t long until she started licking up and chewing some rouge crumbs hidden within the carpet. Some sweeping motion akin to a vacuum cleaner.

“Cute,” Peter maintained his tone, and kneeled to pet the small puppy.

“I know, right? I think she picked me more than me picking her.”

The man scrunched his nose when Daisy nipped at his stroking fingers, and stood, “cute, but I hope you’re not expecting me to take care of it.”

Dempsey scratched, “nah, apparently Nikolai said only I can look after her so she knows to always come to me. Not really a household pet sorta thing like I first thought.”

McCain simply returned to his original work in the kitchen without comment, and his boyfriend continued as he plopped on the couch, “Nik said his trainer friend is going to start helping this weekend. It’s weird, but I already feel kinda good. I mean, look at her face? Who wouldn’t.”

With a frown, the man sighed.

“Oh. I’m talking too much again, aren’t I?” He chuckled.

“Yeah.”

“Sorry, I’ll let you do your work,” the marine hummed, and lifted Daisy onto his stomach.

However, his partner’s frustration didn’t cease, “you really can’t take care of yourself? You need an animal that can’t even talk to ‘make you feel good?’ You’re a grown man, Dempsey.”

Tank groaned, “oh c’mon babe, don’t be like that. Lots of people get service animals.”

“Leave the sentimentality to your books, please. I’m just saying this because I care about you.”

“Well, be happy I won’t have to bug you as much,” he stood his ground, “besides, something that can feel is way better than something that could talk.”

“...is that a jab at me?” Peter squinted.

Dempsey groaned again, and threw his head back on the couch, “no. It’s not. You said she can’t talk, I’m saying that doesn’t matter.”

His partner rolled his eyes and focused on working again, “whatever. What do you want for dinner?”

“Oh! Probably some pork, we passed that old place on the way out and I’ve been craving it since.”

“Alright, let me finish this up and we can go out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I dunno, Tank seems like a quiet type when he's depressed. In Der Eisen, he's really hurt to kill his other self, but he doesn't cry or get angry or say anything. Even on Zetsubou, Takeo's spawn convo literally says that Tank's been quiet and reflective since dealing with that trauma. Just like here (or wherever he talks about sad stuff in this fic,) he avoids being honest with his feelings. "I'm just tired after the swim," is what he claimed.
> 
> Also I wanted to keep Nikolai's wife even though him being gay is important to his identity. So, she's a transwoman that once ID'd as a gay man. They didn't stay together after she came out, but they remained in contact always! They keep a good relationship :^)
> 
> But yea, this was years ago and Peter was already starting to show some signs of being an a-hole.


	31. Fire Blanket

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stain glass became a stain onto the floor. Exploring forgiveness and protection.

There is nothing more exciting than waking up to cancelled plans. At least, that’s how Edward felt as he shoveled strawberry jam into his mouth. A peaceful morning from the comfort of his bed, he thought graciously. Finally some odd excuse for a breakfast, despite his usual nausea this time of the day.

With classes resuming after the recent storm, his department at the university planned a meeting to coordinate make-ups. However, Doctor Harvey Yena did the honors of calling out last minute. A true blessing when warm blankets and a dull headache made laziness look far more enticing.

Still, rather than stay in, Richtofen decided to check on Father Rapt and his church.

It was hard to admit that he was worried on behalf of both. The younger man wrestled with himself on rather or not he considered Alistair ‘good company.’ It was not like the pastor did anything to break Edward’s trust. Yet. 

The night of the storm, the doctor swore he could hear the bell tolling restlessly against the wind. Not to mention, the churning of earth and roots underfoot. Something akin giant earthworm pushing up the soil from where it rose. Edward had yet to find signs of the mudslide, and hoped the old chapel wasn’t ground zero to nature’s fury. It was just as concerning when he knew people like Albert remained in their establishments to protect their livelihood.

 

The power was still out in most of the town as well, and the linens hung out on clothespins became familiar ghosts caught in wire. It reminded the German of his first time watching the mountain breeze push curtains in those airy motions. (Although, the backdrop of fall made the sight into something more eerie than renewing. He swore he’d see a ghoulish villain appear in one moment, only to disappear in the short time of cover from a convenient gust of wind.

... How he wished Samantha hadn’t introduced him to the ‘Halloween’ trilogy.)

To a man whose eyes frequently played tricks, human-esqe figures casting shadows were frightening to say the least. Richtofen noted so as he made the brisk walk to church, a little more fatigued than usual. Frankly, the man was far more excited for dinner tonight. He and Dempsey, as well as Nikolai and Takeo, planned to eat together. It was partially a double-date, partially a chance for Edward to play with *his* dog, and partially a chance to get his hands on more jars of preserved fruits.

 

Then, suddenly and with a gasp, Edward came upon the old parish. The great tree which stood out front was toppled into the grass, and the stain-glass work he loved so much was now a stain onto the earth. 

Shattered colors reflecting the morning sun in ethereal rays. Painting pale trees and sidewalk into a reminder of a very distant spring.

Alister Rapt stood nearby with his arms neatly behind his back. He watched with disappointment as volunteers cut the holy branches to be carried away in small bundles. 

“Such a shame. A damn shame,” the old man hummed to himself.

“That’s horrible,” Richtofen exclaimed as he approached, “was anyone hurt?”

The pastor spoke with a sigh, “no. Still a shame, I was starting to appreciate that old piece.”

“What will you do?”

“Dig into the collections for a new one, I suppose.”

“And the bell?”

“That’s quite alright. We haven’t had a working bell in over 15 years, no reason to fix it now,” he said simply.

“....you. Don’t have a bell?” Edward could only hesitate to ask.

“We do,” Alistair gestured upward with the point of his head, “there’s just no ball-bearing, so it doesn’t ring.”

“I. See.” 

Though he tried and tried to rake his brain, he couldn’t recall if he had mentioned the ringing bell to anyone. Now, he hoped he hadn’t. Perhaps the iron was knocked by stray debri. Yes, that makes sense; he tried to convince himself. However, the pathetic attempt did little to explain the chime from every other day.

 

His train of thought was swiftly interrupted as Rapt assured, “not to worry, though. The fellow who did the glasswork is still in town.”

Edward lit up, “Albert Arlington?”

“Do you know him?”

“I’d like to say we’re friends.”

The Louisiana ghost seemed to hesitate in deep thought. Like he was putting together a very meaningful puzzle, or arguing with an internal self, until he spoke carefully;

“Would you like to join me into town? Albert doesn’t use a cellphone, and I’d hate to go alone.”

Honestly, Edward felt about as awkward as one feels having to hug distant relatives, practical strangers, on holiday visits. Though the two had long since repaired their relationship, it seemed inappropriate to begin running errands together. God only knows how uncomfortable it could be; trapped in a closed space for the 10 minute drive, next to someone who initially despised him. 

(Dear lord, was Father Rapt even capable of small talk? Or could he only speak in double-entendres?)

...Still, the reluctant doctor had no idea how to mind his business, and his interest was peaked when Alistair very obviously baited him. 

“I was hoping you could do me a favor once we get there.”

“What kind of favor?”

“A small one,” he grinned, “I won’t say until we arrive. If I tell you now, you’ll say no.”

Richtofen laughed, “I suppose I have no choice!”

 

The letter board out front read, “Jesus speaks more of hell than heaven.” 

And the doctor emptied a handful of tylenol for his aching head.

 

—-

 

When the pair arrived, Albert was surprised to see them together. He was in good spirits, too. Yet, this was mostly because his beloved store went unscathed. A blessing for someone with no insurance. 

...Then again, an uninsured glass shop was trouble waiting to happen.

 

Meanwhile, as predicted, Edward appeared completely shaken by the ride with Alistair. Talking about his relationship with Dempsey, especially to a man with no filter, was embarrassing. Imagine: telling a holy figure how exciting it was to kiss another man? After years of being single? He only wished to self immolate at that point. 

Father Rapt attempted to ease his travel companion with stories of his own, but Richtofen instead wished to plug his ears and sing away the details. It was about as terrifying as listening to one’s parents talking about their sex-life. In the end, however, there must have truly been a god; one that spared the German’s life and stopped the conversation before it came to the subject. ‘Amen,’ Edward wiped his brow. 

No wonder he and Monty found each other, they were one in the same. 

 

“Never thought I’d see you guys in one room, what do I owe the pleasure?” Al shook their hands with a grin.

Rapt frowned, “bad news, I’m afraid. One of your glassworks was shattered.”

Edward chipped in, “my favorite one, too!”

Albert scratched under his cap, knowing the piece, and mumbled with frustration, “god damnit,” before looking up with alarm, “sorry, rev!”

“By all means,” the pastor waved it off, unoffended, “do you have time to create a new one?”

Richtofen watched the artist answer with action as he took place behind the counter, and started pulling some rulers and notebooks from storage.

“Any ideas in mind?” Albert asked distractedly.

“Well,” Father Alistair hummed, “I was hoping Edward could design it.”

The doctor gave him a look as if he just threatened to break his legs, “excuse me?!?”

 

Richtofen hadn’t known until now, but the reverend came to care deeply for the foreigner. It was immensely important to Alistair that he do this favor, and the timid man didn’t know if he could handle the responsibility. Yes, he recalled Pastor Rapt feeling that the two were fated to meet. Yet now, the weighing importance of how Edward was being treated only confused him. 

Daily conversations were one thing, but deep talks on taboo subjects and special favors? Those were something far more. 

He wanted answers.

 

“Why?” Edward sounded, pressing hard on his forehead. The brightness streaming through the window was becoming enough to make his senses recoil. Almost in a way a snail’s eye would retract to touch.

“It would mean a lot,” The old man said simply.

“But _why?_ ”

Al tried to interject, palpating the building distress in both of his friends, “uh, rev, you want me to-“

“No, no,” the pastor sighed, compliant with what had to be done. 

Albert shot the old man a look of sentiment. 

_(One of knowing,_

_one of sadness,_

_one of joy.)_

Then, he slipped away unnoticed, very obviously wanting no part. 

Alistair sighed and offered the German a seat, “I ask that you keep this between us. This has been long forgotten, and I wish to keep it this way.”

“You can trust me,” he uttered lowly.

Finally, after he clearing his throat and with an avoidant gaze, he explained, “you see, you look exactly like one of my sons. But. We lost him a long time ago.”

Richtofen gasped. Now he wished he hadn’t asked with such intensity, or at all for that matter.

“He was still so young too,” he added with discomfort, “a whole life ahead of him.”

“I’m so sorry, Alistair.”

Rather than respond, he continued, “but when I saw you, I became angry. It was like God was mocking me, mocking Monty. Dangling your familiar form before us after so long. I’m surprised my husband took it so well, much better than I.”

 

All the times he threatened the old man for his cold attitude were now painted in guilt. Like he, Rapt was in mourning for something long since passed. Clinging to painful history; an old house, an old family, an old town. Anything could seem perfect when gazing from the knowingness of the present. Especially when the present was so frightening. Richtofen began to feel lightheaded and sweaty from the weight of the world around him.

 

The pastor reluctantly reached for Edward’s face, looking into those seaglass eyes with great sadness, “his eyes were like yours, too. Mismatched socks, we called them. Of course, that’s how Albert caught my attention as well. ”

Richtofen wished to pull from the unwelcome touch, but stilled with compassion. There was nothing to say, and the Louisiana ghost seemed to sense the turmoil resting in the doctor’s body.

“When you finally confronted me, I realized you were a chance to see him again. You’re somewhat a peak into what could’ve been. I let wrath cloud my judgement.”

Edward muttered as the hand pulled away softly, “I’m. I didn’t know.” 

 

Richtofen wanted to add an apology; that Alistair's peak into ‘what could’ve been’ was someone as ill and sickly as himself. A weak body sputtering like a lawnmower on its last drops of gasoline. A questionable dichotomy of animated and sheepish. A grown man terrified by the delusions of a simple river which posed no threat.

Edward was always very hard on himself.

However, he knew honesty would drive the conversation into a competition to reject anything that implied otherwise. Frustrating when some took the modesty as fishing for compliments, too.

_‘I’m garbage.’_

_‘No, you’re not.’_

_‘But I am.’_

_‘But you’re wrong-’_

How annoying.

 

After the long hesitation for the confession to settle, the Father spoke, “having you make this design is my thanks, and hope you’ll forgive how I treated you. I understand if it’s too much….but: the old piece was of my guilt. I want this new one to be about love.”

Edward pretended not to hear the pathetic crack in his voice. Emotions didn’t suit the Louisiana ghost at all.

 

Here, he found their friendship changed the bitterness of fate, into an empathetic caress of destiny. 

 

Perhaps they needed to meet after all. 

‘Needed.’

 

The younger man likewise resonated with the Father; anger over certain circumstances beyond his control, but knowing everything led to something wonderful in it’s own way. A job he loves, actual friends, meeting Dempsey. (His solstice, his soul-mate.)

 

“You’re my last connection to him.”

 

Richtofen had no idea if the pastor was referring to his dead son or Monty, but the German now knew he could handle the responsibility.

 

“I’ll do it.”

 

Edward had many more questions: How did it happen? Is this why he and Monty had grown apart? Why does he want everyone to forget? However, it was apparent how immensely difficult it was for Alistair to confront his past. If Richtofen knew anything, it was that baby steps were important above all else. 

 

“You can come out, Albert,” the pastor called into the aisles of the store.

There was a small noise from the other end, “sorry. ‘Felt like a third wheel,” and returned to the table, “so... You guys good?”

Edward nodded, smiling softly, “we are good.”

“Very good.”

 

At last, the planning could begin, and the German started weaving a story for his friends. A story of crows as black as night, whose feathers illuminated a rainbow of purple and blue in a silhouetted sun. Misty mountaintops creating a safe-haven. A family of deer crossing, antlers tangling into every little fraction, hooves left behind in empty spaces. Vines pulled along like stray webs clinging to limbs. An ibis in search of water.

This was his heart’s story; misunderstandings, and safety, and family. Longing for home, longing for change.

This is who Edward was. What he wanted.

 

Of course, Al contributed his own symbolism. The doctor himself couldn’t understand the use of geodes, but it added vibrant splashes of color to the elaborate mosaique. Grey rocks slit open, and spilling color in glittering gems. The sketching and notes were put down quickly and with ease. It was almost as though Albert knew what to add before it was spoken. He could translate the feelings. The mariner of no regret, using the imagery to sail him to safety. Although, when the artist suggested the deer be crossing a river, Edward broke the sound barrier with a desperate and terrified “no!” The poor man thought his volume would shatter the entire inventory of glass that surrounded.

“Damn, you almost gave me a heart attack, Ed!” The man caught his breath.

“S. Sorry. No rivers.”

“No rivers. Gotcha.”

Father Rapt, however, was intrigued, “I’m not very fond of rivers either.”

Richtofen only scratched the back of his neck: a wordless ‘I’d rather not get into that right now.’ Of course, the pastor was just as nosey and stubborn as he was, and continued to try.

“What do rivers mean to you?”

“Poison, herons spearing the fish, losing control to a thoughtless tide,” he waved with disinterest.

Albert leanded, “I just think about sailing off somewhere nice. Sounds like you have something you need to work out.”

“I can agree with that,” he replied with a groan.

There was an odd shift in Father Rapt as he observed Edward’s complicated display, one which carried into a voice threaded in worry, “has something been bothering you?”

“It’s. Complicated,” he said vaguely, nausea returning.

“That’s not fair, I shared one of my secrets,” the Louisiana spectre fake-pouted, “now it’s your turn.”

The German continued to fidget, “I just. Well, the river in my backyard. It has been giving me problems.”

“A flood?” Al wondered.

“Ah, no,” Edward hesitated, “I believe I told you about my little experiment, yes?”

“You find something else?”

O’ Another heart’s story; one about homesickness, and paranoia, and a confession of his condition, and a hole in the bottom of the river.

Beakers,

Omens,

Currents.

Turmoil as the water cut through his veins, where he worsened and became frail. How he couldn’t eat, how quickly it was tossed up when he tried to. He was enveloped by fatigue, and lost more time than a broken clock.

Everything on behalf of the hole in the bottom of the river.

 

Still, thank god for blissful coincidences; he checked his phone to find that it wasn’t quite 5pm, but it was close enough to excuse himself from the interrogation.

“I promise,” he assured the two, “I will tell you everything. I just need clarity, for I might sound disillusioned.”

“I understand,” Alistair nodded simply.

“Wait!” Albert perked, “before I forget, I finished that box for you!”

Richtofen was then present with a vision come to reality. It was exactly as he hoped it would be; the box was painted a garden. Autumnal colors and vines spring from the earth. Sunflowers sprouting from fertile soil. Chrysanthemum spotting the brush. Eight suns overhead reflecting the different shades of dawn to dusk.

Exactly what he needed to see.

And wondered if the artist knew why the request was made.

“Al! This is wonderful! I knew it would be perfect for your talents!”

The artist shuffled his feet modistly, “thanks, Ed.”

 

At last, the three said their goodbye’s, and Edward made his way out into the street. He was slightly excited to share the river’s story, but also fearful. Then again, this was a cold man of god and a gentle ex-con. The doctor felt that a tale as odd as his would fit in nicely.

He adjusted his coat and stepped out into the early, cold, sunset.

 

“...Albert?” The father spoke when certain they were alone, “does Edward seem alright to you?”

“Hard to tell, he’s always kinda like that,” he shrugged.

“What I mean is: I think he’s ill.”

“I think you’re right.”

With the most sincere state of concern, he tried, “would you mind telling me a bit more about those experiments of his?”

 

Richtofen was in a dreamy state of mind as he walked, he was happy, but likewise distant and detached. Almost like floating, and everything mumbled from so far away. Like how loud music of a house party sounded to a neighbor. A thumping of bass behind closed doors. Although, there was no music here. Simply indiscernible sounds. Very distant, penetrating his skin.

He reached in his pocket to swallow some more aspirin. 

Feeling like he had whiplash did little to ground the doctor too, even more so when he had no idea where the sting came from. It was plain odd. Nothing had upset him, either; and the man in fact felt a weight off his chest after the morning with his friends. But the weight was replaced. An adventurer swapping the golden statues, all to stop the traps from being set off.

He perhaps wanted to cry, too. 

Or break something.

Or run as fast as he could.

Edward was an uncertain ball of aches and feelings. And everything was so far away.

 

Suddenly, the collar of his coat was pulled from behind, and with a startling force. He was nearly toppled by a strange teenage boy standing before him, and who soon began shouting.

“I SAID. WHERE IS HE?”

“E-excuse me?” Richtofen stuttered. Too much proximity.

“DON’T play dumb. Where. Is. He?”

“I don’t know what-“

“MY DAD, YOU JEFFREY DAHMER WANNABE. YOUR BOSS: HARVEY YENA.”

Edward silenced, Doctor Yena was missing? No wonder he cancelled so suddenly, perhaps he was being instructed to. Of course, in the heat of the moment it was difficult to share the details, or even panic that his new boss was already gone.

“Tell me where he is!” The boy demanded, and shook his collar viciously.

“I don’t know!”

Just then, he was slammed into the ground with a heavy shove. Richtofen’s palms were skinned as they broke the fall, successfully protecting Albert’s box.

“Everyone knows it’s you,” the teen spat from clenched teeth.

 

When in daylight and plain sight, when on the busy downtown sidewalk, the gawking crowd did nothing.

 

——

 

“Ugh. I never thought naming a dog would be so damn frustrating,” Dempsey whined from the couch, holding Edward’s little terrier in his arms like a baby. 

Tank tickled its chin, “I never got to name any dog before.”

“Have you narrowed it down at least?” Takeo asked as he set the table.

“Nah.”

“Then you are overthinking it,” Nikolai joined as he kept his eyes on the TV.

“I dunno. It just has to be meaningful,” he frowned, “names are probably the only thing that can catch hold of a person. Or. Y’know. A dog.”

 

Dempsey gazed out the window and watched squirrels hops from tree to tree. Their weight shook down the trembling yellow leaves into an autumn shower. Further out the forest lined the backyard. Tall birch standing from their bed of dead foliage and rock. Although everything in nature was dying, at least it looked beautiful. It was nice to live in a place where the seasons changed. It gave weight and importance to the passage of time, and the acceptance and appreciate of so. 

Daisy soon wagged lazily and squeezed her way between Tank and the small dog in his arms. She must have been jealous, or perhaps she wanted to be closer to her two favorite guys of the hour. 

 

His Russian friend thought for a long moment before asking lowly from nowhere, “do you know where Edward’s been today?”

“No?”

“Look.”

Dempsey turned his attention to the television, and in that moment his entire stomach dropped. Another doctor, another disappearance, another suspicion of foul play. He knew the man too, Richtofen had spoken about him once or twice. This was his boss, right? Is his beloved safe? He immediately looked to Nikolai.

“Suspicious, no?” the Russian raised a brow.

“I think I should call Eddie.”

“I think you’re misinterpreting what’s happening,” he replied flatly.

Tank became angry, but held his tone, “you should be worried if he’s next. Not if he’s going around killing people.”

“Two of the victims have been his bosses-”

“And one was a hiker. And another two museum employees. And peter. And. Well. Eddie doesn’t even know those people,” he said, getting a little more defensive.

Takeo warily interjected, “did he ever tell you why he moved back here so suddenly?”

“Uh. Not exactly-”

 

Just then, the doorbell rang. Thank god, thought Dempsey, as he stood to rush Edward in. He didn’t want to hear the biases of his friends. Mental illness did not equate to violence in the marine’s head. If anything, his lover was sensitive to everyone’s needs. Perhaps Monty needed to shuffle his medication until the aches and delusions would become manageable again. Yes, that had to be it. 

But when the door was answered, he found Richtofen a complete mess. His nose was bleeding, clothes disheveled and dirtied my the pavement, palms and forearms skinned. Although the blood on his sleeves was dried, fresh crimson dropped from a deep cut into his cheek.

“Eddie! What happened!” he gasped. The German himself, meanwhile looked very annoyed and ashamed.

“Sorry, I ran into some trouble on my way here.”

Tank muttered something distressful under his breath, and ushered him to the kitchen table. The two nearly tripped over the excited terrier, attempting to jump excitedly to his saviors arrival. Of course, the little thing still needed to strengthen the atrophied muscles.

“I’m sorry,” Richtofen said again very distantly, “I was closer to here than my house. My head hurts too much.”

“I’m glad you came,” his partner assured him.

“Oh my!” Takeo gasped when he finally saw what the commotion was about, “why would someone do this?”

“I can think of several reasons.”

Nikolai had returned after silently rushing off to the bathroom for a first aid kit fit for humans, and Tank immediately got to work cleaning the broken man.

The Russian looked at Edward with serious intent, “what did they say to you?”

“What didn’t he say,” Richtofen mumbled, and winced when Dempsey placed some disinfectant on his cheek, “he called me Jeffrey Dahmer. That I’m insane. A pervert, even.”

Takeo looked to his partner, knowing him well enough that the Russian would have no tolerance for hearing such cruel words. The islander swore he could hear the gears clicking in Nikolai’s head, telling him to do something. And do something now.

“Nikki…” he warned as his fiance exhaled all the hot hair in hit throat. 

However, Nikolai interrupted, “did he say who he was?”

“Doctor Yena hasn’t been found today. It seems as though his son wished to take matters into his own hands,” he spoke as his voice got smaller and smaller. Edward was becoming anxious. He felt pathetic, and that he kind of wanted to cry a little. But he was also angry. Even shame started to take, as he was mended in the center of the house like he were in front of a viewing gallery.

Naturally, Dempsey noticed as his partner shook slightly in his hands, and wrapped his arms around him, “hey, it’s ok Eddie. You’re fine. Just a few bruises, alright?”

Richtofen held back wordlessly.

 

In this moment, for the first time in a very long time, Edward wanted to die. It seemed like the fastest way to get away from the tangle of failing health, and ostracism by the town, and fear for his very life. Of course, wanting and needing are two very different things. He wanted to die, but what he needed was to feel loved and safe again.

 

“Do you need to go to a hospital?” his lover asked with compassion. 

“No.”

“...Do you want to hold your dog?” Tank tried, and Edward nodded into the crook of his neck.

The little terrier was lifted into his lap, and sniffed at the dry blood on his nose.

“It’s ok little thing. I’m fine,” he told it with a softened smile. However, it was more so directed to his friends in the room. Those that actually understood the words.

 

All the while, Dempsey wished his partner agreed to going to the hospital. Not just for his injuries, but to make sure his partner would be safe. Safe: rather than worry if he’ll be next to die, or if he’ll wander off a cliffside, or get hurt during one of his episodes. Than to worry Richtofen may do something regrettable… not that he was starting to see the validity in his friend’s observations. He trusted Edward.

“Oh,” Dempsey blinked in a sudden revelation, “how about Sebastian?”

“Excuse me?”

“The name for your dog,” he perked up, “Sebastian’s a saint my mom prayed to. He was supposed to be executed because his beliefs by archers, but he survived. A lot of the army guys go to him for protection.”

“...that’s a wonderful name, Tank.”

 

Edward held Sebastian a little closer to his chest with a smile. He felt a lot better.

 

Dempsey began cultivating a plan to convince his dearest to go to the doctor’s.

 

Nikolai battled with mistrust and what was right.

 

Takeo read the room and became very worried. Something was going to happen, he felt. He just didn’t know what.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The reference to the Halloween trilogy is literally a scene where Mike Myers is standing between the clotheslines Staring...Menacingly.  
> Jeffrey Dahmer was a gay serial killer that literally severed his victims. Sometimes he ate them.
> 
> A long chapter for dealing with my mid-term hiatus :^)


	32. Poacher's Pride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A weird dream and a visit to a graveyard.

_Edward felt odd, or rather, he couldn’t feel at all. Something far off in the distance reverberated in the darkness of night._

_Which kissed the trees and stones and reeds of the river bank gold._

_That sent the water trembling in waves, as though an ethereal fluid passed through._

_It was thick and gleaming, like melted steel, like blown glass over a kiln._

_His hands were warm, too. However, they did not shine with the water. Nor did they shine by the silver moon above. His palms were pitch black and sticky. Viceral and dried on the corners. Thick and uncomfortable under his nails._

_The fluid pooled at his feet, and painted his clothes the similar pitch and tar._

_Tar? No, rust._

_Rust?_

_In that moment, Richtofen’s senses truly awakened. This was not just a dream anymore, and he was indeed standing on the cold, cold, river. He inspected his hands, turning them over to see the filth between his fingers. It felt like a layer of glue had dried over his skin. Too familiar, as he raised the digits to his face and smelled blood._

_He yelped, and jumped back, and knew._

_A hematologist,_

_he knew blood,_

_and he knew blood looked black with no light to reflect._

_Edward nearly covered his mouth to call out for help, but refrained so not to smear his face. He didn’t know where it came from._

_The earth beneath made a churning sound to join the humming waves, but nothing moved._

_Rather than use the river to wash the stained hands, he hurried himself home. The way he extended his forearms were as though he were feeling his way into the dark. His heart raced, and his stomach boiled. The dark of the forest became brighter and brighter as his form broke the treeline._

_When he blinked, he was home. No longer was Richtofen fearful, yet, he remained filthy while standing before the bathroom mirror. The German maintained composure as he picked blood from under his cuticles._

_It was animal blood, he knew._

_He knew._

_Animal blood, but from where?_

_He was confused, so confused._

_Dizzy, too._

_Dizzy, until he began retching in the sink. Nothing but acid._

_“What’s happening to me,” he panted between his heaving, “what’s happening.”_

_“We’re going to find out soon, ok?” a familiar voice joined, “my poor Edward.”_

_He was not alone in the bathroom._

_Quickly, he spun to find Alistair, holding a towel and a wire brush, “it’s alright, Edward. We’ll get you cleaned up.”_

_The pastor looked sad._

_Behind him, the scene chipped away like burning paper._

_And suddenly the house phone was blaring in Edward’s ear._

Richtofen’s eyes shot open to the alarming sound. Although he was sweating up a storm, he was relieved to find himself home and in bed. For real this time. The man had no idea what to think of the odd dream as he answered the phone.

“Hey, Doc!” Tank spoke from the other end.

“Hello, Dempsey,” he stretched out a yawn.

“Did I wake you up? It’s, like, 2pm.”

“Don’t worry about it,” the German assured with a laugh, “is there something you need?”

The soldier’s mood perked, “Oh! Yeah, listen. I have a favor to ask-”

 

Edward was blind-sided when Tank asked if they could visit the local cemetery together. The doctor hadn't known, but apparently today was his mom's birthday, and Dempsey wished to pay her a visit.

Though touched by the intimate request, Richtofen wished he had been warned in advance. He could only lament this as he rushed to the gas-station for a proper offering of flowers. Truth be told, the doctor likewise feared how he would manage the environment. Edward hadn’t been in a cemetery for many, many years. Though, this was not his only stress.

As he still struggled with what Yena’s son had done, as he became weaker and weaker, as the town ostracized him, and as he grew more exhausted by the day, Richtofen thought himself a ticking bomb. The man would be wound tighter with every little ache, until his heart could not take it. 

 

All Edward was certain of was that he wanted to be strong for Dempsey today. His dearest deserved his support at the very least.

 

Edward, too, insisted that he drive. It was no secret that Tank was fickle when it came to pride versus expression, and Richtofen wanted him to relax before what he assumed would be a highly emotional day.  
Although, to his surprise, the marine appeared bright-eyed and excited as he made way to the car. A stark contrast to another overcast and chilly fall day. He even wore that leather jacket that Edward loved so much. In fact, he had been wearing it a lot more often since his lover complimented it. It was sweet.

“Thanks for driving, hun,” the mechanic pressed a swift greeting to Edward’s cheek, and let Daisy take a place in the back seat.

Richtofen made a small hum of approval, and drove off.

“What’s that look for?” Tank rose his brow as he leaned to click the seatbelt.

“You’ve never called me ‘hun’ before.”

“Really?” The marine went red, made flustered.

“I like it.” 

Dempsey smirked mischievously, and moved to peck more playful kisses upon the doctor’s cheek. His beloved giggled at the assault.

“Tank, I’m driving! I wish to visit the cemetery as a guest, not a resident.”

Naturally, the younger man still appeared pleased with himself as he settled back, and reached to tuck a few stray hairs from Edward’s forehead, “you get enough sleep? You look tired today.” 

(He purposely avoided commenting on the scar that marked the doctor’s cheek, and the bruised forehead which wounded Tank’s protective heart.)

“I admit I was up late grading papers,” he sighed.

“Don’t work yourself too hard, ok?”

“Just trying to keep up with all the absences.”

“Still!”

“Alright, alright,” Richtofen rolled his eyes playfully..

 

Edward wanted to do his best to be strong for Tank.

 

Though the sky was dim and grey, shrouded by seamless clouds and the subtle glow of the sun’s aura, the trees were painted in full. Death never looked so beautiful as the foliage sang out a swan song in the notes of autumnal hues. This, all before they would begin retreating back to their roots for a long nap.

It was likewise pleasant to find the city vibrant with the beginning of October, as homes and shops were decorated with smiling pumpkins and dancing skeletons. Edward hadn’t noticed until now, but it was an exciting change of pace.

“You celebrate Halloween?” Dempsey asked, admiring a comically large spider web made from rope in some strangers yard.

“I used to, do you?”

“Yeah! Halloween is fun, the kids love it when Daisy’s in costume.”

Richtofen was amused, “do you have matching outfits?”

“Of course! This year we’re cowboys. Right, Daze?” he grinned proudly, looking back at her as if she could give verbal confirmation.

 

That was something Edward loved about Tank. He never translated adulthood into mundane and dull routine. Nor did he deny himself of what he enjoyed. He always maintained that spark of excitement in everything he did. Particularly compared to Richtofen himself, who settled into a life where a dignified reputation meant everything. Dempsey gave that joy back to him. 

A profound sense of love suddenly began stirring in the German’s chest. He was truly grateful for the warmth that motivated him to keep going.

...Of course, he would be lying if he wasn’t just as pleased to hear Tank liked kids. Edward’s father had always told that one could read a person’s morality by how they treated children. Kids were naive and experiencing everything for the first time. It was best to keep away from those who took advantage of someone so vulnerable and small. 

 

“You should celebrate with us this year... if you’re not scared,” Dempsey teased while Richtofen was very obviously lost in his head. He would frequently drift off like that these days. 

“I assure you, I’m not!” the German still protested.

“Plus costume shopping would be fun.”

“If you and Daisy are cowboys, what does that make me?”

“An outlaw!” 

“Yeehaw,” Edward countered flatly, the verbage sounding a tad awkward with his accent.

 

When the two pulled up, Tank grasped his partner’s hand with a smile. Here, in those piercing eyes, Richtofen saw distant sadness. 

He couldn’t hold the gaze for long.

 

The graveyard was an expanse of stones lining the rolling hills, like buoys on the distant ocean. Edward had known old cemeteries like this where his parents lie. (All four of them, that is.) However, this was probably the oldest he had seen. 

He recalled frequent walks with Samantha, where they’d compete to see who could find the oldest tombstone. A lazy way to distract themselves from why they were in a cemetery to begin with. 

Regardless, Richtofen had already spotted graves old as the 1890’s. Had he been with Sam, he would have already won.

As for Dempsey, he led his dearest slowly along. He was curious what sort of feelings a place like this would bring up for the doctor. Yet, he was soon relieved to see Edward appreciate the beauty of funerals. Altars built to families long dead, great oaks twisting their roots through coffins, faiths culminating into one earth: somewhere they all knew they’d see one day. An odd sense of harmony shown in the lack of discrimination for cemetery residents.

 

Finally, the two came to the modest resting place. A plaque hidden under fallen leaves that bore Tank’s family name. He watched as Richtofen dusted it off and set the gas-station flowers by its side.

“Thanks, Eddie,” he said simply.

The German stared at a staring Dempsey, who seemed to be in his head at the moment. 

Making some silent greeting. 

Probably.

“Are you alright?” He still checked, and wrapped the American into a side-hug.

“Yeah, don’t worry,” Tank smiled gently, “death ain’t sad to me. It’s just nice to see her.”

“You don't find death upsetting?” 

“I dunno, you know when you ask someone what they’d do if they had 24 hours to live, and they all have these wild fantasies? It’s because people forget death or try to ignore it, and they spend their life without even working towards any of those dreams.”

The German blinked at the observation, “I suppose you’re right. Perhaps using one’s time for something noble is what gives choices importance.”

“And she used her time to raise me! She really was the best.”

 

Richtofen smiled, he loved the way his partner lit up to the thought of his family. Though small, though gone, the soldier didn’t linger on this. Instead, he celebrated the wonderful memories he would never find again. Therefore, the doctor confessed:

“I admire the way you talk about your mother, it’s so kind. I wish I could do that.”

“...why can’t you?”

Edward laughed awkwardly, “oh you know. Fear of loneliness. I wasn’t social like you, so I didn’t have anyone else...It was little help that death seems to follow me.”

Tank squeezed his beau a little tighter, “maybe when you think about them, you should remember how they lived. You sorta get caught up on how they died.”

“Oh.” 

“Like, when you tell stories about places you’ve traveled with them, or that you collected bugs with your sister, or that time you and your mom got lost on a road trip,” he explained, “you sound real happy! I like seeing you like that.”

“You may be right,” the doctor considered very seriously. Though he failed to articulate the truer issue: that he continued to blame himself. That if he hadn’t existed, they could have lived.

 

Richtofen let the conversation sit. Were cemeteries a celebration of life? That was a nicer way to see things, at least. He could celebrate with Tank: how his mother raised someone so perfect on her own. He could celebrate Sophia, and Maxis, and Sam. How they gave him their hearts. 

 

“...What if you hurt because you miss them, rather than hurt because they died?”

Dempsey seemed to consider the question with intense thought, “how about you define death first. Or try.”

“Not breathing?”

“Stars die.”

“Not existing?”

“Bones get left over.”

“Not existing consciously?”

“Plants.”

Yes, Edward was indeed stumped, as to define death was to define life. This was just as hard, of course; in fact, the topic was intensely debated among even the most experienced scientists. Were viruses alive? They move, they have genetic information, but they don’t breath or grow or clump to make an organism. They simply act. This was compared to plants and animals, who had entire systems dedicated to creating and obtaining energy. It was simple to tell what organisms were alive and what were not.

Therefore, Tank answered for him, “there’s no definition. As long as someone out there remembers, it'll never die! If you miss someone, think, and they’ll exist again.”

Edward only looked confused, so his beloved clarified, “I mean, what I'm trying to say is: even if thoughts ain't physical, they're still real. So make your loved ones real when you need them.”

 

Damn was Tank truly soulful, thought Richtofen. He knew just the right thing to say. He made everything seem easy; Love, grieving, compassion….Yes, Edward could never see his family again. But, with how often he thought of them, and how grateful he was for their sacrifices, it was like they never left. Perhaps, the doctor settled, he could see if adopting his partner’s philosophy can likewise erase guilt. 

Richtofen could see his mom again in his sarcasm. He could see his dad in his love for learning. He could see Sam in his goofy smile. They truly were with him always.

Although, Tank added a disclaimer with a smirk, “there’s no ‘right way’ to grieve, but that’s how I’m not bawling my eyes out right now.”

Richtofen only messed with his lover’s hair playfully.

A moment later, Dempsey looked to the doctor, "you mind if I have a second alone with her?”

"Of course, just come looking when you've finished,” Edward smiled softly, and pressed a kiss to his lover's forehead before wandering off. 

 

"Sorry I haven't visited as often, it's been a weird year,” the American yawned as he sat before the stone. Daisy, of course, lay herself across his legs.

 

Alone, the soldier meditated:

 

_That was Eddie by the way, he’s kinda been looking out for me and Daze._

_I think you would’ve loved him, I know I do. I haven’t told him yet though… that’s between us._

_...Maybe I should've listened to you about Peter. He crossed a line back in January._

_Maybe… you’ve seen him? Do people like that even go to heaven? ‘Still hard to say he belongs in hell. Or that he meant all of it._

 

Yes, Dempsey thought, Peter was here. He was buried somewhere nearby. However, he wasn’t quite ready to face his ex’s tombstone. Hell, Tank didn’t even visit the day of the funeral, all he did was attend the ceremony. The man’s feelings on the subject were confusing, but he figured it hadn’t mattered. Forgiveness or loathing would do nothing for him at the moment.

 

_...Well anyway, even if things have been scary these days, I think everything is pretty damn good right now._

_Thanks for that._

_...Uh, can you look after Eddie though? He’s been real sick for the past few months. I know you can take good care of him, but he doesn’t deserve to feel, like, messed up all the time._

_I’m starting to worry he’s going to get hurt. I mean, he already got beat up, but something worse._

_Or, he might do something to himself. He says he’s happy, and I believe him, but sometimes he looks so… not good. When he thinks I can’t see him, I mean._

 

As Tank learned more and more about Edward’s past, he came to understand the nuances in the German’s heart. Some of these nuances were familiar, too.

..The soldier had the harrowing feeling that his lover was giving up. Giving up with his family, giving up with his illness, giving up on his innocence. Almost like he no longer trusted himself.  
He seemed more lackluster by the day, too. It was worrysome, especially when he had seen the exact thing happen to Peter. Peter wanted to die, but he became angry by the sentiment. Edward seemed like he wanted to die, but it appeared as pure despair.

...Dempsey knew Richtofen frequently put himself to blame for life’s worst.

 

_He needs to eat more, too._

_There’s no way he’d go hungry if you were here though. You always cooked the best. I’ve been cooking again lately, but it ain’t as good._

_I started wearing my dogtags again, by the way. Don’t know what that’s about._

_I guess if I end up like McCain they’ll tell who the limbs belong to._

_..I don’t want to meet up with you just yet though. Things are. Good. I’m happy._

_...I wish you’d talk back sometime. I know its been years, but I kinda want you to tell me everything will be ok._

_I miss you so much._

_I’m. I think I’m scared._

_You were never afraid of anything._

_I love you._

 

Dempsey stretched out from his place in the grass as he stood, and looked around for Richtofen. It shouldn't have been hard to spot his tall figure above the tombstones, but he still couldn’t be found. Instead, the American took a leisurely walk, weaving through the graves and statues, stopping once or twice to inspect the names of his mom’s neighbors. 

The sun was already starting to set as well. That was the only annoying thing about this time of year: how short the days were. There was hardly any time to get things done when the daylight was gone by five. Though, Tank found it easy to admit the orange light looked romantic across the dry grass. Even Daisy looked vibrant, as her coat reflected the golden rays.

 

At last, he reached a pretty little bench under some bare tree, and took a seat. Dempsey reclined as he stare vacantly, watching the pitch darkness of black that had carved it’s way into an adjacent oak. A hollow, where one would expect to see an owl’s glowing eyes shine, but there was nothing. 

Things were ok. 

..But he still worried for Edward. 

Edward was very in need of a hospital, and Dempsey himself was completely in the dark as to why the adamant rejections were made. Richtofen did not seem the type to be restrained by a sense of pride. Nor did Edward seem the type to be ashamed of his experiences. He was one stubborn man. However, it was more upsetting than endearing. 

There is nothing wrong with needing help, and Dempsey’s love for Richtofen ran so deep, that he only wished to be the one to guide him.

 

Suddenly, Tank heard a heavy sigh from somewhere nearby. It was wistful and lonely, and he knew.

“Eddie?”

The marine stood and peaked around the tree, and around a few statues, then between some graves. There, he found the German stretched out on the grass, eyes tightly closed and sprawled out as if laying on a wide bed. Upon closer inspection, he saw Edward mumbling something in German very quietly, all as small tears fell from his eyes. Tank only sat on his knees to accompany his quiet lover.

“You ok, Eddie?” he asked softly, and pushed his fingers through those mahogany locks. Richtofen slowly raised his lids, and lay his borealis eyes upon Dempsey’s own. It remained hard for the American to see that scar on his lovers cheek, and he recoiled. 

Edward maintained his woeful gaze as more tears flooded his sight.

“Dempsey?” he whimpered.

“Oh jeez,” he panicked, “are you hurt?”

“No I. I’m sad. So sad.”

Tank exhaled while easing himself, and continued to stroke Edward’s burning head, “it’s alright.”

“I. I miss my family.”

“Hey, it’s ok hun.”

“It’s not though. Because it’s my fault they’re gone. All of them. I killed them.”

His partner froze for a moment, before frowning, “I don’t buy that.”

“If I hadn’t provoked that fight they wouldn’t have been driving through a storm in the first place,” he wailed.

“Eddie,” the soldier could only whisper with sympathy. Dempsey was unsure what to do, but knew the doctor had to finish. He had a feeling Richtofen had been holding this in for a very long time.

“And they wouldn’t need to be driving in the storm if they didn’t need to bring me home from the dean’s office!” the German went on.

Tank, at last, could put together the story. Some reckless behavior, the threat of expulsion from his university, and bad timing as his family came to his rescue the night of a heavy downpour. They must have crashed, the younger man could only assume. And Edward: already so alone and full of love, lost everything at once.

“...there's no way you could have known,” Dempsey cooed gently.

“But I knew there would be trouble, but I just. I was just unhinged. Even I know that I had gone too far.”

“Eddie, I know you, and I know you’d never hurt anyone. You wouldn’t hurt a fly unless you were standing up for yourself.”

Edward only curled into Dempsey’s lap, and buried his face, “sorry. I wanted to be strong for you today. But graveyards, and getting hit, it all came together in the worst way. I saw the hollow in that tree and just. Everything.”

“Hollow?” wondered Tank as he scrunched his brow, until he understood, “Oh. Holes.”

He then frowned, “Eddie, you are strong. Besides, you can be honest with me. I’m hurting today too, but we can deal together instead of faking for each other.”

“You’re. Faking? I thought you said death doesn’t make you sad,” he blinked his tears away.

“It doesn’t; but loss is loss, and hurting is just natural. I miss my ma. She was all I had, too.”

Richtofen squeezed his dearest a little tighter, “I’m sorry, Dempsey.”

“Like, we’ve been through everything together. And even now I just. I want her to tell me what I need to hear right now.”

“...what do you need to hear?”

“That everything will be ok,” his voice cracked.

Ah, thought Edward, that was not something even he could promise. At least, if he kept his truest honesty. The premonitions and omens of something terrible gated a wall around his heart and prevented the lie from bring spoken.

“I’m sorry,” he simply uttered again.

 

Tank seemed to meditate, lost somewhere far in the past, but it was a happy sort of lost. Maybe he didn’t need to hear that everything will be ok. Maybe he needed to see it instead. He had someone to love, a job he was passionate about, Daisy was in great spirits despite her age. Everything was going in the right direction.

Therefore, he spoke with great warmth, “you know, my mom and I grew up real different from you. We hardly got to travel or save up money. It was kinda paycheck to paycheck, you know? But since it was just us, that means she couldn’t leave me with anyone, so we ended up doing everything together.”

Edward smiled, “that’s very sweet.”

“Yeah. She actually worked at the autoshop, too. That might be why I love it so much. ‘Makes me feel closer to her? I’d go along with her to work. Well, Misty and I after school of course.”

“I like misty,” the German uttered lightly, “she’s a great friend.”

“Yeah,” Dempsey sighed wistfully, “before my mom was just: ‘can you pass me this?’ or ‘could you find that?’ every day until it became ‘can you change the filter?’ or ‘can you switch the battery?’ and Misty had no choice but to hire me when I got older.”

The shorter man suddenly let out a gleeful snicker, “she joked that she hoped I didn’t come get her for the years of overtime!”

Edward found that funny.

 

The two sat in each other's comforting hold, silently easing the other’s aching heart, and Richtofen finally confessed, “I think I’m just very sensitive right now. That river is chipping away at my sanity, I think. I don’t intend to make you worry so much.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t understand either. It wants something, it wants me. But what does it want from me specifically?” he speculated absentmindedly.

“...Hey, Eddie?”

“Yes?” he mumbled, still lost in thought.

“...Do you need to go to the hospital?”

“No,” he said flatly.

“You’re still sick after months, and I dunno, I’m starting to get worried.”

“It’s just a fever, and the river is poisoned. I know it is,” he frowned, “this is not some delusion.”

“Eddie’ please. Can you do this for me?” he asked with more feeling, but to no avail.

“I just want to go home please.”

Tank felt his stomach churn. He didn’t know what else to say, he wasn’t prepared enough. Not to mention, he wasn’t about to drag Richtofen there without consent. There was a very serious reason his lover was rejecting with such a muted expression of anger. The marine didn’t want to learn the reason the hard way.

 

He just didn’t want to lose him. 

Rather by illness or death. 

By isolation or by sacrifice.

 

“...alright,” Dempsey sighed at last.

 

Edward reached to the man above him, and pulled his face down to kiss his cheek.

Tank, almost automatically, smirked at the apologetic gesture, “how about you even things out?” he chuckles, and gestured to his other cheek.

“Ugh, you’re insufferable,” the doctor giggled, and pecked another.

 

That night, Richtofen had the same dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of a breather chapter as I solidify a few feelings and Edward's "condition." Also: backstory.
> 
> But yeah, it's true that no one can effing agree on a definition for death. It's A Lot to get into on it's own. I personally think it's arbitrary and limiting to define anyway. (Yes, 'Death' is in dictionaries: but good definitions don't use the word that they're trying to define. Like, defining living as "the state of being alive"??? That does NOT get any point across.)


	33. Family Portrait V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dealing with punishment

The clock on the wall rhythmically ticked throughout the office. It was dimly lit, too; only the lightning which flashed could illuminate the room past the slit blinds. 

 

_‘He’ll be alright, he’ll simply need bed rest and stitches. Mr. Richtofen assured you he won’t need a hospital?’_

_‘That’s correct.’_

 

The dean had left Edward while she spoke to the police outside the door. They thought he couldn’t hear him, but he could. He could always hear.

 

_‘No, they won’t be pressing charges.’_

_‘There were enough witnesses to prove self defense.’_

 

The boy gazed to the window and raced the raindrops with apathy. Then down at his bloody knuckles and bruised frame.

 

_‘He’ll still be disciplined. This university is not some fight-club.’  
‘I recommend a psych-eval as well, seeing his level of aggression.’_

 

It wasn’t his fault that this had to happen, everyone saw it coming, but even Edward understood he went too far. Something deep within just snapped, and he was a child again. 

Defending himself, defending his sister. 

Solving the matter like adults was never an option.

 

_‘And as for the other student; he’ll be expelled.’_

 

Eddie wasn’t even guilty for his actions. Simply embarrassed for causing a scene.

 

Just then, the German heard a rush of footsteps down the hall. A ‘teachers walk,’ he called it, with a loud clicking of heels and jingling keys. However, he knew it was not a teacher: it was Samantha. She practically shoved her way past the dean and the police officers into the room.

“Teddy!” she exclaimed in a voice laced with worry, and hugged her brother tightly. Richtofen hugged back, not knowing how much a needed the affection right now. That’s right, he considered, this fight only happened because his life was in danger. He was afraid.

“What the hell did you do?” she quickly snapped, and smacked the boy upside the head.

“Ach, sorry!”

“Sorry??? Teddy, you broke his ribs! And stabbed him!”

“I know-”

“Gott, and look at you! You look like you were fighting a wild dog,” Samantha said, holding her brother’s wrists. Both of which were marked when he was handcuffed.

“Sam, I-”

“AND you swung a trophy over his head???”

“Actually, it was a bust-”

She only smacked him again, but Eddie let it happen. Frankly, with the worry he put her through, he felt he deserved it.

 

While her brother rubbed the soft spot on his head, she lamented, “what happened to make you go full-feral on this guy, anyway.”

He rolled his eyes, “it’s the same guy who’s been messing with me all year, the one from your statistics class.”

Samantha sighed, “why now though? You’re so close to graduating.”

“He started saying viciously homophobic things about us,” he frowned.

“Like what?”

“Just. Homophobic things,” Richtofen sneered, refusing to repeat the taunts. Needless to say, it was too abhorrent to even suggest the exchange of words, but the German stood his ground:

“He destroyed my sketchbook too, with ugly scrawlings. When I finally confronted him, he pulled a knife. Of course, I had the one too.”

He waved the folded pocket knife his mother gaze him a long time ago, feeling lucky.

Sam sighed again, a little kinder this time, “oh, Eddie.”

He snickered playfully.

 

Perhaps, he considered again, he had indeed gone too far. However, Richtofen had little tolerance for intolerance. If this stranger had only spoken about Eddie himself, the boy would have shaken it off. Cruelty nowadays was only an attempt on his thicker skin. Only his own self-deprecation could reach him now. 

Still, when Samantha became the target, he couldn't hold himself from becoming unapologetically vengeful. In his defense: it would be wrong to judge the young Edward’s character as ‘violent.’ Nor would it be right to assume him an angry person. Perhaps as kid, sure, but what else is a child to do without learning to understand their feelings. 

Here and now, he only wished to protect his loved ones. Even as the dean re-entered her office, she couldn’t help but comment, “I don’t know what happened, this behavior is not like you.”

“I ‘m sorry,” he repeated again. (He still wasn’t though.)

“What’s going to happen?” Sam asked nervously.

“Edward will be suspended for the semester.”

His sister gasped, “but it wasn’t his fault!”

“He sent someone to the hospital.”

“He was defending himself!-”

Richtofen cut in, “Sam, sam, it’s fine. I already called mom and dad, they’re coming back from the airport.”

She crossed her arms, “...’still wrong they have to miss their flight home. Especially in this weather,” her frustration was punctuated by another flash of lightning.

Edward exhaled, smiling softly. Samantha meant well, he knew.

 

It took some time until the scrapes on his knuckles began to sting, therefore, he excused himself to the restroom.

As Richtofen got his first proper look at himself, he cringed. It looked more like he tried exfoliating with sandpaper. In fact, it felt like it too. He Then peeked down his buttoned shirt to find bruises spotting galaxies into his body. Luckily he himself wasn’t at the receiving end of a knife.

Though he remained completely pleased with himself, he was only concerned that he disappointed his parents. Samantha seemed lax, but it was difficult to hear his parent’s tone over the office line.

...Of course, if he could guess, it was definitely disappointment. It wasn’t like he was expecting a ‘congratulations for stabbing your classmate!’

 

No matter, he thought assuringly, it wouldn’t be hard to make it up to them. At the very least, he planned to pay for the new plane tickets. 

 

He ran the bloodied blade under the water, and watched red swirl down the drain like paint. Oddly pink and thin despite the truer nature of blood.

After scrubbing viciously at blood and flesh with cheap hand soap, he leaned over the porcelain sink to take deep breaths.

It’ll be alright.

It’ll be fine, he stared into the mirror.

It’ll work out, he watched the porous visions burrow their way into his sight behind.

Those strange creatures wriggled in and out as they always would, like eels in coral, but he was unfazed. There was something nice about familiarity that calmed Richtofen down.

He exhaled at last when he heard the office phone ring from outside, “best to go back.” 

 

And return he did, but familiarity was gone. Sam had her mouth covered in alarm, the dean held the touch-tone handset to her chest with a solemn gaze, and Edward found out that his parents wouldn’t be picking him up.

 

\-------

 

Richtofen padded to his kitchen as dawn broke, and teased its red sun over misty mountains. Today, he was frankly excited for work; a pleasant excuse to get out of the house on such a clear morning. Besides, all his friends planned to work today as well. Edward was still working on his ability to manage solitude, thus a day alone was not in his best interest.

The doctor decided to leave the windows open to take in as much as he could. 

Edward frequently found it amusing how his boyfriend thought his enjoyment of chilly air impressive. Naturally, Dempsey blamed his need for heavy jackets and layers on his ‘thin Southwestern skin.’ It was still sweet that he often offered the coat for warmth, knowing full well he needed it more. That’s just the kind of man Tank was, and Richtofen loved him for it. He would happily accept it if he can smell that sandalwood soap, and even tug his beau a little closer.

Edward, now in the kitchen, filled a pot with milk before bringing it to a simmer on the old stovetop. It spiralled and glowed like smelted iron. Soon, he added a few pinches of sugar and a teaspoon of honey, stirring it into a silky, warm, mixture. 

The concoction was a recipe Takeo texted him overnight to ease his stomach and counteract fatigue. Of course, the German still made sure the honey wouldn’t boil. He already spent a majority of the night info-dumping his knowledge on HMF formation to the poor Islander. As sweet and romantic as dying by honey sounded, he wasn’t in the mood to feel the complete and utter agony of his body breaking down to vicious toxins.

Despite this, Edward was very grateful; the gesture served more as a little reminder that he and Nikolai were thinking of him.

 

As he continued stirring, he heard the old skittering from upstairs that once made him so fearful. It was light and energetic with a good night’s sleep. It was no beast, but instead the familiar grey cat, and the creature tapped its way down the stairs. Alistair was kind enough to comply to Richtofen’s demands that he ‘control his pet.’ The simple solution being a noisy collar to prevent surprise visits, (or any more funerals for birds at the very least.)

The cat began its begging routine as it weaved between his legs with needy mewls.

“Hello, Enoch,” he said simply, and poured his drink, “back already?”

It only meowed a bit louder.

The German smirked in response, “why are you so drawn to this house, anyway?”

Richtofen thought for a moment as he continued smiling down. Cats like milk, right? He tried to recall. The doctor swore by his familiarity to the trope, but also by readings that said milk was proven unhealthy.

“Ok, just a little then,” he told Enoch, and poured the mix into a small teacup. His feline friend was enthusiastic as it lapped up the offering. The German had long forgiven the cat by now, and with the pastor treating him so well, he developed the need to spoil the thing. He hoped Sebastian liked cats too. 

It was then that Edward attempted to reach out and pet the fickle creature, but this time it did not flee. He stroked the soft fur with a joyous grin, and sat on the kitchen floor to accompany it for breakfast. Digits entangled in the thick layers thoughtfully.

“Change of heart, or do you just feel bad for me?” he chuckled.

The cat didn’t speak back.

 

Today, he felt confident that Monty finally hit the ‘sweet spot’ when it came to his medication. Especially considering how emotional he became at the cemetery, as today he was completely vacant of feeling. ‘Just being,’ he would describe the sentiment.

….Perhaps that wasn’t what his psychiatrist had intended though. It was an uncomfortable feeling, like a heavy blanket draped over his form and pulling him down. Like his ears were full of wool, muting his surroundings. Like he was watching himself sitting on the kitchen floor from the camera’s in the ceiling.

Maybe this was just another one of his mood swings. Days like this often teased, where one day he’d feel contented and the next he’d be in despair. 

Or, more ideally, listening to his lover had made a world of difference. 

Exchanging stories about the past, though melancholy, carved a tunnel into the wall Edward built around the subject. The suggestion to stop thinking about how they died was particularly profound in his eyes. Losing them was just the final paragraph in the long, long, book of memories they wrote together. Remembering didn’t have to be a lonely or tragic sort of thing. 

More conversations like that would be nice.

 

He drew attention to the freezer, where he kept his dear clutch of hatchling since their murder. Yes, Enoch was innocent; the poor thing was simply following its instinct. Even if that instinct to kill seemed more of a personal attack on his loving heart.

... Still, it’s probably not healthy to keep the little corpses so close to his food. 

That he eats.

(...Sometimes.)

Likewise, he recalled fluffy’s ashes, the ones salvaged from the spill in the kitchen sink. At this point, Richtofen had become annoyed by how long he stalled her new burial. He shuffled over to the coffee table where they rested with a frown.

 

The doctor found the letters; underneath the urn as if it were a paperweight. 

Words of a younger self, words of a former self. 

Curiosity struck as he pulled out the first letter. The envelope simply read Richtofen’s name, and smelled of peach.

At last, Edward slid it open with his finger and found a single lined page within.

 

_“I can tell myself that it’s better that you died like this, rather than continue withering...but when one sees death for it really is, I think passing in your sleep would have been a lot better. I fear the purpling flesh and death cries and wallowing in filth will imprint on my mind. It will be very hard to remember you as you were for a long time._

_Someday I need to learn that protecting people I care about doesn’t always have to mean heavy sacrifice._

_I wish to never encounter this guilt again._

_You were a wonderful dog, thank you for being a part of my family. I hope the peaches and plums in dog heaven don’t have seeds._

_I will miss you, ~Edward”_

 

Richtofen let his arms fall, and here he declared to Enoch, “I have instincts too, you know. Those instincts are telling me that someone is going to get hurt.”

He stepped back into the kitchen, and plopped back down by the cat’s side, “I hope it won’t be me… but it will probably have to be.”

Edward was a believer of fate, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of mirroring from Portrait I, when he first met Maxis.  
> Also the tea recipe is good. Just do NOT boil the honey.


	34. Men Who Break Ranks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is being someone's rock an identity?

Dempsey sat on the balcony of his apartment with Daisy. A harvest moon shown above in the sleepy darkness of the hills, and only the smallest clouds dotted the sky. 

Here, the marine drank leisurely beneath it all, and spun Richtofen’s seashell between his fingers. Stuck in his head to the stirring leaves which mimicked the sound of rain on pavement. 

On the back door, the shadow of a smiling skeleton cast itself outside. Tank was never the type to decorate in one go, thinking it’d spoil the anticipation of halloween. Likewise, the signpost was accompanied by a nearby pumpkin. Fresh and ready to carve; an idea to share an activity he loved with the man he loved. A very simple gesture that went a long way.

However, now, Tank had other things on his mind besides jack-o-lantern designs. He strained as he tried to piece together the happenings of his earlier appointment with Monty. A question that couldn’t be answered, but needed to by next week. He wouldn’t stumble in front of his psychiatrist again.

 

\---

 

Monty passed Dempsey a warm cup of coffee before weakly sitting across. With a closer glance, the old man still looked like absolute hell. His crystal eyes became tired, his once perfect posture was a chore to hold, and he appeared very pale. 

Tank frowned; although he and the doctor didn’t have the best relationship, but that didn’t mean he wished to see him like this. In fact, the soldier appreciated that Monty never infantaized him as they worked together. Dempsey was the type that needed a bossy figure to actually tell him he was being irrational. Or that his behavior didn’t have to play out the way it would during episodes of panic. Hell, even break down the toxic masculinity that built up the resistance to his own feelings.

Monty’s teasing forced him to explain himself, so he can hear how silly he sounded at times. It helped that Tank had thick skin; as the method wasn’t for everyone. A softer psychiatrist would only suggest the theories, speaking to him like a lost child. (Indeed, he often found this on the initial search for a therapist about a decade ago.) 

Monty was more like a creepy grandfather that hated him, yet also wanted the best for him. Loved like a very, very, distant relative.

….It was complicated. Dempsey simply knew he didn’t want to lose his ‘grandfather.’

 

“You alright? You look like shit.” Tank asked across the coffee table.

“Still a bit weak, I’m afraid,” he sipped.

“Maybe you caught what Eddie has?”

“No, I’ve caught a little fever called ‘I’m older than the fucking pyramids’”

Dempsey rolled his eyes.

“Aww, are you worried about me?” Monty pretended to fawn.

“I don’t need you dropping dead mid-conversation, doc.”

He chuckled enthusiastically, “I’ll hit my life-alert on the way down. You won’t need to lift a finger.”

Funny how some dealt with mortality. Some feared death, some respected it, but Monty appeared to laugh in its face. Almost as if most of his life was living out of spite, and he’d already given the reaper offensive hand gestures on several occasions.

 

“How’d you weather the storm?”

“Fine. No serious damages and all that,” he spoke, distractedly stirring his tea.

Dempsey scratched the back of his head anxiously, “things were ok on my end too. We just got the power back, so that’s a relief,” he blushed before hesitating, “I stayed with Eddie that night though. So I hardly worried.”

Monty smirked, suddenly interested, “oh? How did that go?”

“It was… good. Kinda forgot what it’s like to share a bed.”

The psychiatrist blinked with shock, “I’m impressed! You usually bitch about those night terrors of yours getting in the way.”

“Eddie actually said I didn’t have any that night,” he hummed, “but he was probably lying. I like that though.”

“Why’s that?”

“I dunno. I felt like. Like he actually knows me. Cared about me as much as I care about him. Didn’t want me to worry...I told him everything, too. About the service.”

Tank shoved his hands in his pockets to twirl Edward’s seashell discreetly, “and for the first time, being vulnerable and stuff. It wasn’t scary. I knew he wouldn’t judge me, because I’ll always be his in the end.”

“A poet as ever,” the old man mused, “do I hear wedding bells?”

“Ugh, c’mon,” he groaned with a flustered blush, “I’m just saying: I’m lucky to have a guy that treats giving a damn like a mutual thing.“

“Well I’m happy for you anyway. Edward’s a great man.”

“Thanks, doc.”

 

“And how have things been lately? Besides the storm,” Monty reclined.

“I’m gonna be honest: I haven’t felt this good in a while.”

“...may I ask something?” the psychiatrist asked wearily.

“Uh. Sure,” Dempsey blinked, it was unusual for the doctor to preface with caution. Worrisome at most.

“Could you describe yourself for me?”

“What do you mean?”

“Just tell me what kind of person you are.”

“Oh,” he shifted with discomfort, “loyal? Active?”

“That’s it? Well, damn.”

“...why?” Tank tilted his head inquisitively.

“You’ve often relied on others for a sense of self. Peter, your friends, Edward, even that dog of yours,” Monty observed with sharp words, “all I hear is ‘loyal to Edward’ or ‘active for the sake of Daisy.”

The soldier looked to Daisy, lying stretched out on her side. Words torn from his chest and tossed away.

Monty continued, “That’s the thing about the military: they strip you of your identity so your life is their law. You’re far away from battlefields, and matters will only lead to you getting hurt again.”

“Eddie wouldn’t hurt me.”

“Not intentionally...”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he squinted.

“See? Defensive, defensive,” the doctor wagged his finger.

Tank scratched with discomfort as Monty further explained, “you’re emotional sponge, practically an empath. Richtofen isn’t the most stable man on Earth, and it isn’t healthy to base your feelings by how he’s feeling.”

“I just wanna support him is all,” he mumbled, “ ‘specially since he’s been super out of it lately.”

“Yes, and that’s fine. It’s simply something to think about. Now that you’ve had a source of confidence, you need independence.”

Dempsey sighed heavily, “alright, alright, I get you.”

The old man nodded with assurance, “next week, I’d like you to tell me who you are. Can you do that?”

Tank shook a ‘yes,’ but refused to voice it.

The man wondered what Monty thought of who he was.

 

\------

 

The thing about Dempsey’s relationship with identity, was that it wasn’t just the service that took it away. It was his ex too, who turned him into nothing more than ‘Peter’s boyfriend.’ After spending nearly a decade together, he felt like an idiot for not recognizing sooner. 

...Or rather, he was fully aware of what he was losing, yet leaving was still out of the question. Duty bound, almost. 

 

It wasn’t Tank’s fault, however. It was never his fault. Though, it took ages to see how his feelings were justified, why he felt trapped, why he stayed. 

 

Names are powerful things, the man considered when naming Sebastian, they can take hold of someone and pull them along. 

 

_‘Tank,’ ‘Smokey,’ ‘Banana.’_

That’s who they were, their truer names had been taken a long time ago. Maybe even before the alcohol, Peter was showing the signs when he knighted them. Taking that only mothers or those renewed could give.  
But it wasn’t just names; it was dependence, or cycles, or responsibility. 

 

_Hurt-Apologize-Honeymoon-Hurt-Apologize-Honeymoon-Hurt-Apologize-Honeymoon_

 

Over and over, no space to break away when the hamster’s wheel kept spinning. Nothing to do but throw yourself from the wheel entirely, and be lost with the feeling of legs on muscle-memory, calling one back to stretch their tendons again. All within the familiar bubble.

Not only this, but Dempsey possessing more physical strength than his ex did nothing to resist a psychological pull. As long as his heart was on a rope, he was sunk.

...Of course, the soldier shuddered at the thought of becoming heartless. A man without a heart is hardly a man, he felt. 

 

From a moment he considered Richtofen among all this. Tank was so proud of him, the German always worked so hard to make himself better. Finding friends though lonely, drawing when bored and restless, even confronting his past at a steady pace. Edward was amazing. He deserved the happiness he had sown.

Dempsey wanted to make Richtofen proud too. Instead of soaking up the negative in everyone’s heart, he wanted to remind them of the positive. Tank figured this possible if he tried, as whenever he himself grew overwhelmed he remembered the good effortlessly. It came naturally.

 

_Daisy’s smile, Nikolai’s french toast, making Jam with Takeo, mud running with Misty, Edward’s borealis eyes._

 

It was then that Tank understood what he needed: to stop considering love his duty, and start considering it as a product of time. To show sympathy, but resist the urge to change himself to express compassion. 

 

Dempsey looked lazily to the treeline once again. 

It wouldn’t be easy, but he was willing to try. 

Eager, perhaps.

All for himself to grow, 

all so Edward could have someone he deserved.

A someone that could ground him with their own confidence in self.

 

He nodded the promise to himself.

 

Although Daisy was ‘off the clock,’ so to say, she was alert and very interested in the forested surroundings. The branches would stir with foraging vermin now and then, causing her to prick her ears. This was per usual of course; watching the wildlife was like television to her. 

Only when a flock of birds suddenly fled did Tank join her interest.

He then whispered softly, but with a lot of feeling, “Eddie, what the fuck.”

 

He recognized the silhouette in an instant as he watched the man tred along the river. It appeared as though he were wearing an ill-fitting top and pajama pants, which caught Tank off guard. He was the type of person to become thoroughly ashamed of being seen in sleepwear outside of his own home. 

It was nearly midnight too, no time for a stroll when murderers were lurking. Something had to be wrong.

Dempsey called out loudly, “Eddie!” but his partner paid no mind.

He attempted to call again, but the only response this time was one of his neighbors yelling a helpful, “shut the hell up.”

Tank didn’t bother changing from his nightclothes, and simply threw on his jacket to check on the wandering doctor. At least Daisy looked excited for the surprise walk.

 

With a light jog, and his phone for a flashlight, it was very easy to catch up.

“Eddie, wait,” he breathed while climbing over a rock. However, Richtofen only looked back with a confused stare, then continued forward.

“Doc?” he reached out to grab the man’s wrist, earning another confused look. Dempsey was startled by the clammy and feverish skin. Yet despite this, the German remained non-verbal as he tried to pull away. With little conviction, too.

“Are you sleepwalking?” he tried.

But Edward shook a slow ‘no’ with his head. He was conscious at least. 

Kind of.

 

Dempsey kept hold, but pinched his temples with concentration (and frankly, frustration.) He had no idea what to do. Naturally, calling an ambulance was an option, but god knows Richtofen would hate him for it. 

Healthy people just don’t wander riversides on cold nights. In a dissociative state, no less. Though, Tank was at least certain it had to do with his partner’s fixation on said river. Schizoaffective types usually had their paranoias, and Edward’s happened to be a canal that was already strange. The circumstances were counter-productive to grounding him, even if Dempsey tried.

 

With a sigh, Tank resolved to stay put until Richtofen snapped out of it. He gently pulled the sweating doctor to sit with him on the roots of a nearby tree. Instinctually, the soldier grasped his hand as Edward rested his head on his shoulder. Daisy took the other side lazily. They watched the water flow.

 

Streams of silver liquid by the moon.

 

Empty jars glistening from underwater; litter becoming a makeshift reef for small fish.

 

Reeds swaying and brushing against each other.

 

A pretty little postcard.

 

“This river isn’t that scary,” Dempsey tried to comfort, “it’s kind of nice.”

He leaned in a little, “look! There’s even a lily pad. Doesn’t it look like a nice fat frog belongs on it?”

Edward reacted this time by watching the lily, then looking into Tank’s eyes with a gentle smile.

“I think the frogs are starting to go to sleep this time of year though,” he moved anxiously.

The marine resisted the urge to say something inexplicably tacky like, ‘I can see the stars in your eyes,’ but he truly could. The speckled sky reflected perfectly into those mismatched swirls of blue and green. Even the sheen of yellow dusted the gaze golden. 

Although the German was quiet, and very far away, there was at least familiarity in the tender stare. Tank simply hugged the man a bit closer.

“Uh,” he tried instead, “I remember you saying you liked stars. I tried googling some so I could look at them with you. And, like, know what you’re talking about.”

He pointed to a cluster above, “there’s some from the big dipper.”

The man the hesitated before laughing, “or the little dipper. I can’t really tell the difference.”

“Some people say it’s a bear getting chased by hunters. It only shows up in autumn too, so the blood from the hunt flows down and turns the trees red. It’s really smart.”

“...”

“I bet you’d tell me something really smart too, like why that actually happens to the leaves.”

“...”

“It’s ok though. I’ll ask you later,” Dempsey smiled before scratching shyly, “I mean, I could probably google that too, but I like hearing you talk.”

Edward responded again by pressing his nose into Tank’s brown leather jacket and breathing in gracefully.

“God damnit, you’re probably cold,” he hurried to give his lover the coat, “sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

 

Tank was left to reflect sadly as he fixed Richtofen into the warmth, “ya know. I hate what people keep saying about you. I bet if I was with you, no one would’ve tried anything.”

The doctor burrowed into the coat desperately searching for comfort.

“I should’ve known though. People were like that with Joey, uh, Banana. Pretty sure I’ve talked about him. People didn’t get what he was doing either.”

Edward then rested his head against Dempsey’s chest, listening to his heartbeat with closed eyes.

“It’s always the guys like you or Joey that end up getting hurt when someone doesn’t understand,” Tank them smiled down, “you’re a little weird, but you’re no murderer.”

Slightly distracted, he uttered gently, “just. Uh. Don’t do anything to yourself. You shouldn’t follow his example.”

 

Dempsey soon noticed the sickly doctor dozing off. By now, his breathing calmed and the soldier could no longer feel salty sweat resting on the darken skin. Yet, the younger man still thought it best to give him some cold medicine once they got home.

Not that he wanted to patronize his dear Richtofen, but Tank didn’t wish to stir him. Thus, he cautiously lifted the doctor into his arms, and carried him home.

 

Hugged close to his chest.

Sleepy and tender.

 

A night wrapped in warm quilts and hot tea.

 

Tank realized he already getting to know himself.   
Edward was far away, but he himself was very much present.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something must be going around, huh?..
> 
> I'm pretty sure that star myth is a real one to exist, so I stuck to my vauge recollection instead of googling it so Tank's thin knowledge is more "honest."
> 
> Also, mud running is this stupid thing where you literally find some effing mud and run you truck tires through it. I have no idea.
> 
> If I was Dempsey, Ed would've been to a doctor by now. But you know, loyalty sometimes leads to Bad Choices too.


	35. Unpronounceable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward is tongue tied when it comes to feelings.  
> Tank is tongue tied when it comes to love.  
> It's better to discuss in a mutual language.
> 
> CW// Discussions of sexuality. Only lightly, of course.

Richtofen awoke to the grating sound of his vibrating phone against porcelain. With a whine he adjusted his crooked spine, and opened his eyes begrudgingly. 

There was one of those, ‘what happened last night moments,’ like one would have after getting blackout drunk. It took a long moment until Edward finally realized he was folded into a very small bathtub.

Richtofen likewise had no idea whose bathroom this was, but found that the question had to wait. On the other end of the still-persistent ringtone, was Doctor Monty. Edward held the phone do his ear with an exhausted sigh.

“Hello, Monty,” he uttered flatly.

“Well damn! Good morning to you too!” he exclaimed in his typical and boisterous tone.

Richtofen glanced at his phone’s lock screen to see it was 7am, “sorry, long night. Is everything alright?”

“I’m afraid we’ll have to cancel our appointment today, I have a headache that could put down a moose. Is that alright?”

“Yes, yes. Please feel better.”

He spoke with a sudden concern, “how are you feeling today, Edward?” 

“Lazy psychiatry, doctor,” he smirked, not like Monty could see. A common joke among the two, nonetheless.

“Well you sound like shit. I expect all the details next week.”

“Of course, doctor” 

In a singing voice he hummed a ‘take care,’ and hung up.

 

Richtofen immediately threw back his head, hitting his head on the edge of the bathtub. Edward wished Monty hadn’t cancelled; today seemed to be the worst timing. In his confusion, he felt completely miserable. His stomach turned over and over, while his limbs felt like he were made of jello. There was likewise the sense of self loathing; so much physical and emotional pain than encouraged him to strangle himself. Death sounded great just about now… until he recalled how much more painful dying would be. At least he wouldn’t feel so sick and guilt ridden all the time.

He pushed the thought to the back of his head.

 

The doctor shoved his phone, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as if removing a mask. He still had no idea where he was; however, little clues had started emerging. He tugged the draped unfitting shirt to inspect it. A plain graphic tee for a band he never heard of. Then, he glanced down to some baggy sweatpants thick with wool lining. There was some subtle discomfort to think he had been redressed without his knowledge. 

It was then that the man heard the sound of a guitar being tuned. It wasn’t long until a light strumming took its place. The melody sounded like the warm beat of his beloved’s heart. Like the soundtrack to Tank Dempsey’s amorous confession so long. 

Very quietly, Richtofen moved. Heaven knows that if Dempsey caught him, he would probably chuck the thing from the third-floor window. However, to his luck, Tank was in his room with his back turned. Either he hadn’t realized Edward was awake and present, or, he pretended not too.

 

The doctor leaned in the doorway and simply listened. It said more about Dempsey’s feelings than any conversation they’ve ever had. Any moment shared.

It was delicate plucking, like a wandering eye finding the little details in a museum piece. 

Like finally finding the artists signature hidden on a painting.

Richtofen could recognize the tempo from a mile away, having become very familiar with the rhythm with every night and dream spent together. All by his dizzy head the man pressed to the home made in his partner.

It sounded sad, but tricked the ear as each verse ended; like listening to a song and expecting the beat to intensify, but instead it carried somewhere kinder. Only this time, it wouldn’t leave Edward disappointed. Instead it fell into the feeling of receiving one of the most wonderful gifts ever shared. 

That gift, from Dempsey to Edward, was the forest that guarded their homes; safe and hidden from strangers and dangerous riverbanks. Wind Chimes blowing in the neighbor's backyard patio. Powerlines threading the lonesome backroads. Rainy days bundled together. The sound of everything that made Tank want to live.

 

The song was expressed with no lyrics, but he heard it all. There was some swelling in the threshold of emotion that wished to cry out. IThe kind of sound that one couldn’t stop smiling as it rang. A melancholy declaration of outright devotion. Hell, Edward even swore there was even a little bit of Daisy in there. The way she zipped through tall grass or made her lazy wags.

 

The strummining eventually tapered away from Dempsey’s fingertips, and drifted off to a stumbling end.

 

“That’s all I got so far,” the marine spoke as he turned to face Edward. 

 

He was pretending after all.

 

...Little fibs were somewhat exciting that way.

 

“Dempsey,” the doctor spoke with a smile restrained, as he knew he’d start crying, “your heart is so beautiful.”

The man scratched at the back of his neck with a heavy blush, “thanks, Eddie.”

Richtofen slowly padded to the bed and held his lover tightly. Right now, no comment could do what he heard justice. The experience was all about fleeting moments and gentle subtext. Speaking the sentiments would only make them tangible, and recollection would lead to the telling rather than the moment itself. This moment needed to last forever, and as it was. Such a candid snapshot of self.

One could feel the excitement written on the soldier’s face as he smiled into Edward’s chest, pleased for praise from his better half. 

“Thank you for sharing this with me,” Richtofen kissed Dempsey’s forehead.

Tank only hugged tighter, “thanks for hearing me.”

The verbage implied that an honest outpour was the truer intention.

 

The German soon shifted his weight and moved to sit by his partner’s side, “er, speaking of forgetting; about yesterday-”

“Yeah, sorry for leaving you in the tub. You kept getting sick so I thought it was best for you to stay there.”

“If I’m being honest, I don’t recall much at all. Nor how I got here,” he frowned.

Dempsey heard the embarrassment and shame drench every word, but he himself was still worried, “if I’m gonna be honest too, I don’t know what that was. You just. Really scared me for a second.”

Richtofen hesitated to touch the American’s warm hands as he pled his guilty conscious, “I’m so sorry, Tank. I-”

He was interrupted as Dempsey spoke with the confidence of a man about to jump in front of a train, “please. Let me take you to the hospital.”

“...I can’t.”

“Why?”

“It’s complicated.”

“How could that be complicated?”

“If I explain now, I’ll surely slip away again.”

Tank’s loving heart almost broke, like the despondence of watching a chicken try to fly. Knowing it wouldn’t soar, even if it dreamed so dearly. Dreaming wasn’t enough to do something they weren't equipped to do.

Instead, he sighed gently, “do you even know why this is happening to you? You were really clammy, kinda a walking corpse. Like, I even had to carry you here.”

“I wish I had answers. But.. I simply. Felt,” Edward tried pathetically, “I assure you this. Whatever this is. I have never experienced it.”

Tank started rubbing circles into the back of the doctor’s palm with his thumb. This was him reaching out, “felt what though?”

 

Richtofen moved to sit among the quilts on Dempsey’s bed, thinking very hard. The best way to convey the experience was to compare it to a moment of revelation. Just as Tank had done with his song. It didn't need to be a universal experience either, just something lonesome, and powerful, and terrifying, and only completely understandable if one witnessed the memory themselves.

With that, Edward had a story to tell.

 

“When I was in graduate school,” he began, “I interned at a national park in Germany. We would simply go out into the forest, and take surveys of the populations.”

“Eddie-” Tank frowned.

“It’s related, I promise.”

 

\----

 

Richtofen enjoyed his work on the preserve. He was never an outdoor type, nor did his family show interest. Yet, that being said: exploring Germany’s Black Forest was an exciting change of pace. A nice little place nestled in the south, a common setting to the brothers Grimm.

Dense treelines where sap and nettles coated the air, rolling mountains which outlined the contours of a rising sun, great lakes stretching out to mirror the painted sky. Edward truly appreciated the beauty of nature, and just as he became protective of his family, he followed suit by his duty within the sleepy wood. 

 

The young man often brought his (far more experienced) supervisor on his excursions, and would spend an hour or two collecting data. Ravens, bears, deer, minks; all the kindly neighbors had to be accounted for.

 

However, there came a day when Richtofen thought to go on his own. Here, Edward simply wanted to avoid having the drive out go to waste when his professor called-out sick. Especially when the dense forest was so vibrant with the cool flame of autumn’s burning colors.

 

The German walked the familiar path deep into the dreamscape of earth. Yet, it was far more quiet than usual. No singing birds, or rustling foliage, or distant foraging. Just the occasional whistling breeze.

 

Then, excitement shook the young man as he heard heavy movement nearby. The steps were light and precise, but every movement echoed with a weight unlike any other. He hoped it was a stag, his professor would be so jealous to have missed out. Even more unique, a badger; Richtofen had never seen one in person before. He hardly feared attack, as he came prepared with bear-spray and his gleaming heirloom, his knife.

 

...That was, until he saw that the stirring creature was a boar. 

 

Suddenly and slowly it emerged over the roots of a great tree. It’s huge silhouette cast a towering shadow, a densely armored body of 700 pounds at least. On the protected land, no wonder such an animal could get so big.

The creature’s pose alone was enough to freeze the air, the stance of a beast holding its ground. One could swear that even moisture in the air turned to ice. Nostrils flared too, taking in Edward’s scent, with tusks yellowing and battle-worn. 

Was it mating season? Was he supposed to play dead? Run? He knew nothing about the animal, nor how to disengage.

 

The young man realized all too late that they had both locked stares. It’s eyes were mysterious black spheres, glistening and powerful. Old and experienced. The stare pierced Richtofen deeper than he imagined those tusks could gauge.

Such a noble creature that will no doubt kill me, he thought profoundly, I must look hideous compared to it. 

The German himself had the stance of a startled giraffe, or perhaps a clumsy stork.

 

There was a sudden shift in the wind that disturbed the boar’s wiry brown fur. Likewise, Edward’s own hair was brushed back in a sweeping motion. If he hadn’t known any better, he would have thought the animal sent the gust. 

As the young man held his mismatched eyes through the cutting breeze, he found those primeval waters that fascinated him. What he spent so long exploring in the pages of old books.

Like Thoth,

Like Prajapati,

Like Tiamat,

Mother of god’s. She who brought the flood of creationism from black water; a flood into nothingness.

 

Still; this was a wild animal, there was a reason a boar’s visage was carved into swords and greco-roman depictions of heros. 

With the revelation, he eased his posture. Whatever it chose to do would be right; Richtofen trusted it’s judgement. Besides, the creature could easily outrun Edward even if he tried.

 

With a loud screeching call, one that clawed nails into the chalkboard of Richtofen’s heart, black eyes were coals lit into fire. The boar charged recklessly, and the young man stumbled backwards before hitting the floor with a thud. 

Face-to-face, Edward’s borealis eyes widened. The beast soon stomped it’s heavy body on both sides of the man’s frame, and roared out it’s terrible call. Practically the screaming of a warrior. It was like having a lion at his door, bearing it’s teeth with only the threshold of the entrance to seperate them. Or lying in the road as a car blares it’s horn and screeches to a stop, just inches from collision.

Richtofen kept his wide-eyed stare, and the boar huffed hot air from it’s flaring nostrils. Seeing their own reflection in one another's glistening irises. Neither wanted to shatter the mirror resting the curiosity within.

 

As quickly as the boar appeared, it backed off Edward’s cowering body. Then, with a softened gaze, the animal blinked thoughtfully. The young man, too, eased; a slow blink in return as every muscle became undone. 

The boar huffed once more, and dashed away into the bush. 

The man watched it leave before fear made him grow lightheaded, and he collapsed back onto the floor.

 

\-----

 

Edward grasped Tank’s hand warmly, and smiled somehow, “I’ve never felt something like that. Something of fear? But also detached, or dreamy. A bit curious and anticipating too. An odd blur of everything.”

 

Dempsey attempted to imagine how one feels looking into the eyes of a predator. After all, humans seldom found an animal more vicious than themselves. Despite this, Tank could agree there was no other way to describe the drop of the stomach, or when raw nature sang out in one’s head. 

Or maybe, he could indeed imagine, and didn’t want to say who his predator was.

 

“Just... something special happened back there,” Edward scratched with a furrowed brow, “suddenly the fear was gone, and I was somewhere safe again.”

“Last night, or with the pig?”

“Both, I think. The boar’s eyes were kind and noble. Perhaps appreciative...softened...respectful? It’s like I could see its entire life play out. As if I was the real threat.”

Tank chuckled brightly, “you’re no threat, I promise ya that! Why even let something like that into a park anyway? It sounds worse than a bear,” 

“One cannot have the forest without the predator. Remove the predator, and the forest dies,” Richtofen said simply.

“Wouldn’t there be more prey?”

“The prey will overpopulate and eat all the plants; then they will starve,” he muttered harshly, “Do you know what they call it? When the predator controls the population like this?”

“No?”

“A landscape of fear.”

 

The mechanic was unsettled by the intensity, but instead drew out what he needed to hear, “then, what protected you last night?”

“I was grabbed by something warm, first taking my hand, then my arm, and last my chest. Suddenly the moon was gone, and I awoke in your bathtub.”

He then stilled for a long moment, before speaking with uncertainty, “... I thought I heard a boy calling, too. Something about rain? A raincoat maybe? And a fishing pole. I’m still very confused,” Edward frowned. He hated having to guess memories and feelings like this, “all I know was that I wanted to follow the river up into the mountains.”

 

Dempsey liked to think that warmth was himself. Hand and body, a protector, a mender. It was invigorating to find that he reached the German last night; touch was so powerful and unique.

 

Tank knew well: Richtofen was not a car. Yet, the American still couldn’t turn away from one stranded on the side of the road.

A fresh coat of paint,

Tightening weathered bolts,

A full tank of gas,

Dempsey knew that under the rust and mud, another Edward was trying to claw his way to the surface.

 

He knew well: not everything that’s broken needs fixing. That Richtofen was still Richtofen, and he loved him through health and sickness. That it truly destroyed him to see his lover weak and pale. That Edward’s refusal for help only hurt worse. That he was at least grateful for his lover’s safety.

 

The suffering wasn’t beautiful, but the man who adapted was. 

 

In this case, adapting could mean trying, or conquering, or coping, or even accepting whatever tribulation one endured. Tank knew Edward could do this, he had seen it before. He simply wished for his partners happiness.

 

And even then, the mechanic would do his best to watch every step of the way.

 

Because he knew his partner would do the same for him.

 

“...you said you carried me?” Richtofen mused playfully, breaking Dempsey from his thoughts.

“It was like holding a cloud,” the younger man assured.

“Clouds are actually quite heavy. Up to five hundred thousand kilos.”

“At least you sound like yourself again,” he joked, and pulled Edward closer into inviting arms. The German watched gleefully. Even as a man so worrisome and unsure, Dempsey remained a home to return to. Even as he shined with confidence, Richtofen wanted to hear more of his heart. That which he adored.

“You want to know something,” the taller man hummed as he hugged tightly onto his partner’s arm.

“Hm?”

“I haven’t heard you say anything bad about yourself since we’ve started dating.”

Tank blinked in slight disbelief.

“It makes me really, really, happy,” the doctor smiled, choked with emotion.

“I guess all the proof I’m doing something right is in front of me,” he spoke with embarrassment.

Edward shoved the man playfully, only causing Dempsey to hold him closer and tighter. 

The love in the room was palpable in those arms. As though Tank was trying to wordlessly share his sentiments. Richtofen recognized the unique fashion the marine expressed himself once again.

 

As he pulled off the hug, Dempsey kissed him slowly; cupping the doctor’s head in his calloused palms. Naturally, Edward let his eyes flutter shut as he leaned into the touch, trying to stifle a smile. O how he loved.

...Of course, that wouldn’t be the end of the wordless declaration. 

Though the younger man pulled to breathe, he’d go back over and over. Almost taunting Richtofen’s neediness with the drawn out lip-lock. To this, the doctor attempted to grab the back of Tank’s neck so he could no longer flee. Yet, the maneuver instead caused a low chuckle to hum in the American’s chest. 

He knew what he was doing.

(As usual.)

 

To this, Edward would retaliate in his own special way:

As Dempsey frequently found, the German was weak when it came to those tantalizing bites across his adam’s apple. However, Richtofen too knew how to make his dearest melt. He slowly let his tongue trail his thick throat. A trail all the way to the soldier’s ear, where he began to teeth on the lobe with sharp canines.

Straight away, he felt Dempsey jolt, causing the doctor to laugh from the immediant reaction.

“That’s not fair,” the mechanic fake whined. A voice laced with amorous longing.

 

Already, Richtofen had been passing his hands up Dempsey’s shirt as well, feeling his freckled chest breathe with excitement. He also felt something metal hanging around his neck; did Tank always wear dog tags? They were rather cool, he thought simply.

The German soon opened his mouth with a sigh, and Dempsey became ensnared in the trap.

Their tongues moved together slowly as their needs called for more. Searching for a special wonder, weaving something unpronounceable as they tangled.

The grabs called for more, too. Edward’s nervous palms became splayed across Tank’s back. He too pulled closer and kneading the muscle like a pawing cat; paradise at his fingertips. 

The American whined with desire this time, and tugged his plain grey top over his head. With this, Richtofen could do whatever he wanted; and he did exactly that.

With a mischievous glint in his eye, the doctor licked another languid stripe from soft stomach to collarbone. He giggled shyly as he felt goosebumps rise on his lover’s skin. No mercy as his attack was fortified by fresh bruises he eagerly sucked into sensitive places. The final nail in the coffin were the small moans he made against the flesh.

 

Edward would have never imagined that he’d ever achieve this state of bliss. It almost felt alien to graze the freckled skin, or to nibble love-bites into the object of his adoration. He truly felt loved, swaddled in Dempsey’s arms. A voice like drinking warm soup, breath like smelling the warm smoke of burning cedar, touch like pushing one’s hands up through soft earth. Something so sincere and individual. Someone, more appropriately.

 

The marine grew overstimulated, and began seeing the French exchange as a competition to love. Therefore, he pushed Richtofen back into the mattress and bit hard into his craning throat. The taller man gasped a cry, and now Tank was the one giggling.

“Gott, I love when you do that,” Edward half-moaned-half-laughed whilst tangling his legs around Dempsey. 

Yes, Richtofen was usually quiet in moments of romance, but when he liked something, he really needed the mechanic to know. (A request Tank himself made once before, finding the little appeasements encouraging.)

Dempsey happily continued his work; sometimes he gnawed hickies, while sometimes he would scrape his teeth across the dark and sun-kissed skin. Anything if it made Edward laugh out his euphoria. 

As for the doctor, he kept himself wrapped tightly around Tank, and threaded his fingers through milky brown hair. Now and then, the cold metal of Dempsey’s necklace collided into a chiming bell too, which only served to excite him. Never too old to learn something about one’s taste, he presumed, and took a moment to inspect the charms.

That was: until Tank suddenly grabbed both of the slim wrists, and pinned his beloved where he wanted.

Of course, before anything, Dempsey pulled away.

“Daisy. Out,” he said sternly, and the sweet retriever was quick to obey. 

He returned attention to Richtofen with a chuckle, “sorry, it feels weird doing this in front of her.”

“I would think so!” he snickered playfully.

 

Tank took to making little growls as he resumed the French endearments between curious tongues. The doctor tried to struggle against his assertive hold, but more so that Dempsey would grasp his arms tighter. A pleased giggle escaped once more when palms fastened.

Then, without notice, Edward’s shirt was tugged off. The movement was sudden enough for him to squeak from the flood of cold air. (Which wouldn’t be cold for long; when the two were getting quite heated.)

The soldier brushed his lips across the old scars. As if he were trying to whisper them away.

He glided down his tanned neck, his arms, his chest. Taking in the smell of his own soaps and quilts. Somehow it collided well with Edward’s elegance. Almost as though the two were likewise chemically bound, not just by heart or by mind. His hands moved along these imaginary contours of chemistry.

Once he reached the man’s stomach, he eagerly nipped and sucked at the soft underbelly. At the same time, his starved palms explored upward and tangled in dark chest hair which grew generously. 

He pressed himself deeply into Edward’s hug, too; desperate to illicit a response. He earned just that as Richtofen arched abruptly. Even his leg hooked around possessively in a silent bid. Dempsey thought proximity alone could warm the German’s icicle body. That somehow his excited pulse could diffuse into Edward’s own. It was almost a privilege to share this moment with someone so eager to please, someone with an excess of love and more than enough to share. Edward truly was his solstice in his special appeasements and consideration for others. So kind, so kind were the kisses.

It came to a point where he decided the attention, sensual touches, and purpling marks weren't enough. 

He pulled away,

and found Richtofen watching him with an anxious stare. 

 

..Actually, Dempsey felt, it was more a look of fear. His lover even bit his lip to restrain the noising he was no longer in control of. A clear display of someone afraid, but more so to disappoint. 

 

Tank leaned back with understanding, and lifted Edward to straddle his lap. All while resting his hands upon the slim hips.

“Is something wrong?” the foreigner asked as he settled. He rather enjoyed feeling Dempsey’s bare chest against his own. He could feel the racing pulse as well, trying to relax as some seriousness overtook the marine.

“Nah, I'm just thinking. I don't wanna offend you or nothing though.”

“I wouldn't spurn your curiosity,” he smiled sweetly.

“You sure?”

“Certainly.”

 

“...Are you a virgin?”

 

Yeah: Richtofen just about took back his entire sense of confidence as he yelped, “excuse me?!” He was redder than a tomato, too, not that he wasn’t already flushed from their making out.

“I don't mean anything bad by it. You just look, well, scared when we get into it sometimes.”

“Oh,” he mumbled, “I suppose I do... I just. I don't know if I want that sort of thing. Er, sex: that is. And I only realize what’s happening when my body starts to react.”

Dempsey nuzzled into the crook of Edward’s neck, “I'm not pushing you or anything, I only want to make sure I ain't crossing a line.”

The German moved his thumbs to run circles across his lover’s shoulders, “don't misunderstand. I like when you touch me, or when you stroke my hair.” He hesitated as he added with a nervous smile, “or the way you kiss me when you do...” 

Anxiety quickly laced his tongue as he mumbled, “but surely you have. Uh. Needs.”

The soldier leaned in to grant his partner one of those special kisses he spoke about, passing his tender hands through Edward's locks. Swirling tongues with desire. The German wrapping his arms tightly over his lover’s neck. 

He pulled off with a grin, “of course I do, but I’m not about to force anyone to do something they don't want.”

 

Mischievously, Tank rolled over so he was again on top of the doctor, shining a triumphant smile; 

 

“Besides, I don't need sex to know that I love you.”

 

Richtofen covered his mouth in a swift motion with a shocked gasp.

 

“What?” Tank blinked, until he found tears welling up in those sandbar eyes.

Naturally: Dempsey shifted to panic, “did I say something wrong?”

“You. Love me?”

It took a moment for the mechanic to realize what he said; to which he eased his weight on Edward's chest. 

All he could do was redden, “oh. I mean. Yeah. Of course I do. You're real important to me.”

 

The German couldn't cope with the thought that anyone could possibly care about him so much. Such words hadn’t been uttered to him in a very long time, he figured they were long extinct by now. 

...Although, knowing how wonderful Dempsey was to him, perhaps it wasn't so unbelievable. 

A man full of love, full of heroism, full of compassion, full of strength. He wiped away the pricking tears with his sleeve, sniffling gleefully.

In an excited state, he threw his arms around his beloved, and pulled him down into the tightest hug he had ever given. The soldier nearly suffocated by the pillows that smothered him into the mattress.

“Oh, Tank!” he grinned with excitement, and peppered the freckled face of his beau in dozens of happy little pecks. Dempsey, joyful and ecstatic, laughed madly. 

He, too, tried to outcompete the little endearments with playful wrestling and chance kisses, “I love you! I love you so much!” he cheered.

“I love you, too!” Edward cheered back, “I love you, Dempsey!”

The older man had no idea his vocal chords could still produce such powerful words. Yet still, it was all he ever wanted. The verbage rang out and rolled off his tongue; as natural as breathing.

 

After the ceaseless declarations of love, both physical and emotional, and the rolling and tugging of playful wrestling, they collided back into the mattress to catch their breaths. 

Richtofen looked to the heaving figure by his side. 

Golden light kissed the freckled skin.

Small snickers and laughter at nothing in particular.

Gentle gazes and enamored pupils blown into adoration. 

Flushed cheeks and toothy grins. 

 

He never wanted to lose this, but that meant something on his own behalf. A sacrifice.

 

“Hey, Dempsey?” he smiled, reaching out to move stray hairs from those excited blue eyes.

“Yeah?”

“I think I'll ask Monty for an MRI. See what’s going on up there.”

The man only threw himself over Edward once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of cool that a lot of creationist beliefs rely on water. I get that though.
> 
> Thoth is the Egyptian Ibis, Prajapati is a Hindi Boar-god of creation, Tiamat is a Babylonian goddess of the ocean that created the other gods (with Abzu, the fresh-water god.)
> 
> The Black Forest in Germany is very beautiful too, and it's indeed one of the prime settings for a lot of Grimm's fairytales!
> 
> Boars are terrifying though, I would rather an alligator encounter to seeing one of those.
> 
> ...Happy loving boyfriends :^) 
> 
> Did you know that in studies of alzheimer's patients, music has the ability to evoke feelings and memories that are otherwise not present/retrievable? It's because musical memory is linked to parts of the brain that dementia-type diseases won't effect.


	36. The Last House on Fire I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward and Albert cut glass, while Jessica and Misty meet up with an old friend.
> 
> CW// Child death

Edward was in great spirits as he helped Albert lay out supplies; markers, a glass cutter, lead kane, and an array of chemicals that could put the university’s lab to shame. With the preparations, the two planned on starting the glasswork planned for the new church mosaique. Richtofen remained intrigued and excited, especially when he, Alistair, and Albert’s story was finally becoming something tangible. Working on projects with friends seem to bring the creative types closer together, too. The meaning of their combined efforts would be comforting in a vulnerable sort of way. Bearing their new selves.

Edward was certain the design was ready as he watched Al traced the line-art onto colored glass. With guiding lines, the fractals were soon cut into smooth shapes. He never considered how sharp glass knives were until witnessing the blade slice the thick layers with ease. Observing became mesmerizing in this. Just as satisfying as methodical movements of heavy machinery on an assembly line. Or watching a calligraphy pen scratch the perfect typography in sweeping motions. Or spinning pottery being molded by thin cuts and impressions.

Here, even the roof of the shop was painted a familiar array of blues and greens, almost as though the ocean isolated them into some peaceful undersea cavern. The culprit was naturally the turquoise glass which would form a river, which Alistair fought to include with tooth and nail. 

..To no surprise, Edward absolutely hated it. Still, he realized that rather he approved or not, the baptismal stream was indeed a miracle in it’s own respect. 

_‘Something that shouldn’t be.’_

Thankfully, in this moment, the despair of dark waters was far from Richtofen’s mind. Instead, he was lively with romance and anticipation. Knowing Dempsey loved him was still dizzying in a euphoric sense. Albert would certainly get an earful as Edward shared the wonderful feeling from the recent confession.

 

“It’s real nice that things are working out with your man,” the artist smiled with sincerity, all while keeping his attention to his craft.

“I know! I’m still a bit nervous about following through with the doctor’s visit,” Richtofen admitted with a shy chuckle, “I hope Monty won’t make a big deal of it when I ask for a referral.”

“At least you’re finally going. Father Rapt and I were ready to drag you there ourselves!”

“Quite honestly, I have no idea how you put up with how frustrating I can be.”

“We look after family here, after all.”

_'Family'_

It was wonderful it was to feel needed, or to belong to someone, or to find he made a family of his own despite isolation. Indeed, the excitement of confessions still wrapped around the doctor’s heart like tangled headphones. A confession of honest love, as well as a very meaningful sacrifice on his part. Perhaps Albert couldn’t fully understand how big it was for Edward to set aside his own intense anxieties. Yet even then, if it made Dempsey proud, doing so was well worth it. 

..Of course, Richtofen would be lying if the plan wasn’t just as relieving. The physical pain and confusion had grown unbearable, to the point where words could not convey. Sometimes the German attempted to outwit his misery with an experimental dose of antipsychotics, or a little extra aspirin, but the sickness never held off for long. In fact, the measure instead served to knock him out for a few hours. 

As nice as it was to be lost in blissful unconsciousness, the continuing dreams of skin caked in dry blood was beginning to degrade his composure, to say the least. The experience was much too real, with burrs and hitchhiker seeds poking at his skin, and thick dirt buried under his short nails. Not to mention, the consistent appearance of Alistair as his savior. He hated the idea of the pastor scrubbing his filthy hands or pulling twigs from his sleeves, even if the consensus between the two these days was that of mutual respect. After all, Richtofen still remained selective about touch.

Despite this, the positive energy remained palpable. The two were left to wonder if the warm comfort of knit sweaters, as well as the smell of pumpkin spice which peppered the air, provided an environment of a protective and devoted romance. A little something of nostalgia and new memories into one. The season was a gift in this way, how it seemed to be the only time that truly remained in the moment.

 

Edward leaned with crossed legs, now curious of Albert’s own romance, “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you talking about a partner before.”

“It’s complicated,” he hummed, pretending he wasn’t overthinking the question.

“That only makes me more interested, you know.”

“I bet. You want a turn at cutting?”

The German took the tool with interest, and inspected it carefully while Albert explained, “Just use it like an x-acto knife, but cut at an angle so the pieces can slide into the lead.”

Richtofen nodded in confidence, and ran the blade smoothly across ruby red glass. Doing so was even more pleasing when performing the technique himself, Edward smiled with satisfaction.

As he continued marking lines, he continued to ponder, “I think a relationship must be particularly strange for you to call it complicated. You seem too smart to leave yourself in doubt. Or others, for that matter.”

“Believe me, we already worked through trust problems a long time ago.” 

“Oh?”

“You know what they used to call me? The Weasel,” he recalled with amusement, “they said it was hard to tell if I’m being honest or if I’m in ‘Weasel mode.’”

“Oh my!” Richtofen exclaimed, seeing the nickname as an insult. However, Albert assured it was all in good fun.

“I get it though. I can be pretty damn convincing either way,” he smirked.

“Have you used your ‘weaseling’ on me?” Edward asked with joking intentions.

“Nah. If I want someone’s trust, they gotta know as little about me as possible. That said; I think we’re far passed formalities.”

“True..I assume the same of your ‘complicated’ relationship?”

“I’d say so, but after knowing me for a few years it was hard for them to let certain things go.” 

“Trust me, I understand that all too well,” he replied flatly.

The artist soon fidgeted with his sleeves a bit shyly, “it’s never been official anyway, and they’re always away for work.”

 

These days, Richtofen had grown to respect Albert’s privacy, as well as the man’s honesty. It took a long while to understand that lacking answers didn’t always mean embarrassment or shame. Particularly for his Italian-American friend, who was truly grateful for his chance to start fresh. Perhaps even, to feel trusted again. Learning of Al’s confusing partnership only solidified the theory.

Still, there was a detectable hesitation in ‘work,’ as though the ‘work’ had unethical implications. 

 

...Sometimes, having no cover to be judged was the only way to escape bias, Richtofen could empathize. 

 

Therefore, the doctor simply encouraged.

“I’m sure things will work out one way or another.”

“We’ll see,” he sang idly, and began digging in one of the counter drawers, “whatever the case, I hope whatever you caught ain’t too serious.”

It was then that Al presented Richtofen’s ibis sketchbook, “you should take this back since things have been quiet. Like, in terms of murder. I know it helps you relax.”

“Thanks, Albert,” Edward placed the journal in his work-bag before chuckling nervously, “to be honest, it’s just as unnerving to know the threat could be lying in wait.”

“I can’t imagine why.”

“Probably finding more ways to frame me,” he half-joked, as frankly, the theory wasn’t out of the question.

“Don’t take it personally; it’s probably since your a stranger. Lots of folks have been here their entire lives. Kinda hard to build up a killer when people know each other so well.”

“I suppose. I still don’t appreciate being a punching bag,” Richtofen frowned as he ran a thumb across his still-healing scar.

“...I feel kinda bad it happened just a block away.”

“It’s alright, I promise.”

After hesitating, the artist spoke playfully, “you want me to rough someone up for you?” 

“No thank you, I don’t need any more attention than I’ve had,” Edward rolled his eyes.

“Suit yourself,” Al shrugged while retrieving a small bucket of paint.

“Surely you don’t use that on glass!”

“This is grisaille, it adds shading to the pieces when it’s put in a kiln,” he pointed to a displayed work on the wall adjacent, “there’s glass in the stuff too. ‘Makes sure it sticks to the surface.” 

“Oh! I always thought that was some sort of etching,” he mused while watching the artist brush the tar-like ink onto a glistening blue river. 

Richtofen frowned at the imagery, “I still don’t understand why Alistair insisted on adding this. I thought we were in agreement when he said he wasn’t fond of rivers either.”

“Why do you have such a problem with rivers?”

“If I tell you, you’d think I’m delusional,” he scoffed, “I don’t know why Alistair thinks the same, too. Unless he found what I’ve found.”

“Bodies?”

“No...Has he found bodies there before?” Edward asked with caution.

 

Albert looked extremely uncomfortable as he set his brush into it’s can, “look. If you’re gonna pal around with Father Rapt there’s something you need to know.”

 

The sudden seriousness was enough to catch Richtofen off guard, and the artist finally began to tell a story of the town’s history. One that Edward had heard many times before, but not like this.

 

Over a decade ago, a storm tore through the unsuspecting town. No one had experienced such heavy downpour in the region, and thus the winds easily had their say against old buildings and rocky mountainsides. 

 

Yet, it still seemed like any other rain.

 

At the same time, a younger Alistair and his husband had nothing to fear. They lived in an open valley, with no threat of flood and the closest cliff sides far enough to cast distant shadows. 

 

Alistair and Monty had nothing to fear, when the two and their children bundled by the TV. The screen lit the room as they watched the weather channel among it all. Drinking hot cocoa on a cool fall. The downcast and grey sky, glowing a pale yellow in mid-day sun. 

 

Yes, kids. Plural; more than Edward’s look alike. The two fathers had enough wealth and room in their hearts to adopt several children. One daughter, four sons. 

 

Monty frequently joked they would make a fine representation for the united nations. 

 

Alistair wouldn’t have known, when the youngest wanted to play in the exciting downpour. 

Or when the other children volunteered to join. 

Or when Monty zipped them up in little raincoats. 

Or when the fathers helped the kids into their tiny boots.

 

It only happened about 30 minutes later, when a great churning of earth and root was heard. 

 

The groaning mountainside had a hole where rock and mud once stood. 

 

The fathers would call out, search, clamor, but nature always wins. All the two found were tiny boots at the base if the cliff. Strewn into the plugged river. 

 

Several other landslides echoed throughout the town that day.

 

One couldn’t dig up the earth to pry the children free, as the cliff would only collapse further. Monty hoped that they ran off in search of shelter, or that he himself could claw out at least one survivor. Buried in mud and root. 

 

It was obvious he was looking for corpses.

 

The town blamed the fathers,

Alistair blamed himself,

Monty lost his faith,

The kids were left buried in the mountain,

Where the river miraculously continued to flow.

And so it goes.

 

Edward started crying. As a foreigner, as an adopted child, as a man that lost his family; it became personal. Albert would do his best to comfort his friend:

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to bring ya down like that,” he pat Edward on the back softly.

“No no, I’m glad you told me,” the doctor sniffled, “it’s just. Horrible.”

“That’s why it’s so important to him. His kids are still in there.”

It was upsetting to imagine that there were skeletons buried so close. Where people knew they were there, but couldn’t do anything about it. Just knowing.

That it has been 15 years, and Monty and Alistair continued looking out to the blue ridge mountains. It was no wonder the two had grown apart.

Just knowing was too much.

 

The doctor calmed and uttered a shaking breath, “in the river. I found something horrible too. A hole.”

“A hole?”

“Yes, bottomless.”

“What’s wrong with that?” Albert scrunched his brow.

“It sings something that could cut a man deep. It’s terrifying,” Edward cast his gaze away.

“...what does it sound like?”

There was a pause. An attempt to name the otherworldly genre. Or to describe they way it shook the forest. A long consideration of what message it shared. 

 

Then he realized why the song resonated.

 

Why the pit was so upsetting.

 

Why the obsession of his delusion was so visceral and unforgiving.

 

“Like it’s alive, and so very lonely.”

 

\----

 

Jessica sat in the lively bar as the evening rush began to set in. The warm and dimmed lights of the beer-hall lit the room into a homey atmosphere. The wooden floors likewise reflected the glow, as the linoleum shined through it’s decades of experience. Old scuffs and scratches were the sign of a great bar, and very welcome when business seldom lasted these days.

Here and there, large televisions were set on walls, gathering groups of rowdy men unfortunate enough to call themselves sports fans. Jessica was thankful; her shift wouldn’t start for another hour, so she didn’t have to deal with this initial crowd. The bartender always made a habit of bringing a coat to cover her uniform, too, all so no one would bother her off-duty.

Just then, excitement finally reached her heart as Misty pushed her way to the barstool adjacent.

“Hey babe, thanks for waiting up,” the mechanic smiled as she pecked a swift kiss.

“It's no problem,” her girlfriend hummed, I love the whole grease-monkey look.”

“I just got off work!”

“I’m playing, you look beautiful,” she smirked as she brushed one of Misty’s hairs back behind her ear.

Jessica looked out to the scene of lifted spirits and ease. It was apparent patrons felt safe enough to come out like they used to, as it had been well over a month since anyone had gone missing. 

“I’ve been thinking about bringing back open mic nights,” she reclined with satisfaction.

“That’d be awesome! It’s been years,” she beamed with excitement.

“Yeah, I miss when you and Tank would perform together.”

“Oh my god,” she started laughing, “remember how we first met? Right after one of our sets?”

Jessica laughed too, “what even was that?” 

 

What the two were referring to, of course, was the embarrassing and intrinsic fashion that they were introduced. Tank was in between his on-and-off relationship when Jessica caught his eye. Misty, meanwhile, was not blind, and was likewise struck by the elegant beauty before her.

It was hardly more than a minute's interaction. Dempsey left the table to introduce himself, enervated by his own confidence and a beer. All he could do was open his mouth when Jessica interrupted with a flat and disinterested, ‘lesbian.’ The marine immediately understood the rejection and returned with flattened affect to tap Misty in. 

 

The couple were caught up in their own giggling of happy nostalgia when a third joined.

“Hello, ladies. Nice to see you again.”

Misty greeted the unexpected guest, “Jackie! I swear I haven’t seen you in months.” 

The guest was an old friend of the two, Jackie Vincent. He was a detective on the local police force with aspirations of making a name for himself. The mechanic was often amused by the detective, as even the way he dressed made an attempt to call attention. She swore the look was that of an old noir character. A brimmed hat, thick mustache, and heavy coat with the tie and all. The man even carried the constant smell of cigarettes which punctuated his entrance to a room. 

...Frankly, everyone except himself found it tacky.

 

“Hey, Jackie. What’s new on the case?” Jessica asked while offering a seat.

“It’s been real quiet, but lately we’ve been getting reports of strange noises from the mountains,” he mused.

“Like what?” Misty blinked.

“A hunter described it like a crying deer? I guess he would know,” the man shrugged, “it may just be coyotes though.”

However, the blonde suddenly snapped into a very serious tone, “Well, I wanted to talk to you about that. I think I know who’s responsible.”

“Jess-” Misty tried to interrupt, but was spoken over by Jackie.

“Edward Richtofen?”

She attempted again, “oh c’mon, he’s a little weird but not a killer.”

The man reclined a bit, “I’ve spoken to him before, and he seems to be at the center of all this,” he then pulled out a cigarette, “I just don’t understand his motive, and there’s nothing we can charge him on.”

“What about the knife?” she said while taking the tobacco right from his fingers before he had the chance to light it.

He frowned, “It wasn’t even used for the killing of the last body.”

“Someone Is framing him!” Misty asserted.

“Or he’s covering his tracks with a false positive,” her girlfriend spoke with sensitivity.

The farm girl considered seriously this time, thoughtfully and with great care,“…when we first met he said he became a hematologist because he likes blood.”

“That could be a motive,” detective Vincent rose his brow and pulled out his phone to make a quick note.

“Why would he be collecting blood?” 

“Trophies, perhaps. It’s common for serial killers.”

“That’s dumb,” she crossed her arms.

“He’s not the most stable person in the first place.”

“Sick people are more the victims of violence! You should be protecting Edward!”

“I’m only saying his behavior isn’t helping his case.

 

At this point, the mechanic felt she was reaching for straws in her attempts to defend Edward. Yet, she made one final try to put an end to the accusations, “so he has a little obsession with water, big whoop.”

“All the bodies have been found discarded by drains and waterways,” her girlfriend said flatly.

.

..

...

“...Ok fine, you’re right! It could totally be him,” she put her hands in the air in surrender, “it’s just. I dunno. It’s not fair to Tank. He’s my best friend, if he got hurt again I don’t know what I’d do.”

She looked off with a worrisome conviction, “I don’t know what _he_ would do.”

“Tank’s safety is more important than his feelings…” Jessica held the woman’s hand softly, knowing how close the two were, and how sensitive the circumstances became.

Meanwhile, Detective Vincent seemed to be caught in intense thought with a sudden idea on his mind, and he finally spoke, “I may have a plan, actually. But I need your help.”

.

..

...

“...Let’s hear it,” Misty nodded after some hesitation. 

 

The two were surprised by the powerful conviction in her voice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: I don't know what to do about Albert's relationships and the rest of the MOTD crew, so I'm going to make it so not even he knows.
> 
> Honestly, writing Alistair and Monty's past made me sad (even though this reveal has been ready since the beginning!) It hurts.
> 
> Also, new character added to the mix.


	37. The Last House on Fire II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A visit to the doctor's office and a warning.

Edward sat vulnerable in nothing but a hospital gown and shorts upon the plastic bed. The arrangement of the room made him feel as though on a stage, a spotlight illuminating his form to recite the brain’s soliloquy, (while otherwise in darkness.) Quite literally, too; as he was injected with iodine to outline the contours of his troubled mind. There would be no secrets. 

No paint nor picture surrounded him in the plain space. Fear flowering like a ruptured vessel in his chest.

Meanwhile, the machine behind him was silent. Waiting. 

An MRI was nothing the doctor hadn’t seen before.

 

“Wow, you’re burning up,” a nurse said as she helped Richtofen get comfortable. 

Ironically, he was very cold. 

They swiftly asked if he wanted music, too, and he requested for something without lyrics; it always helped to imagine a story to get lost in. He was aware how claustrophobic and noisy things were about to become as he slid on the bulky headset. With that, he was rolled in the tube-like machine while the nurse left. She would have to watch from another room. A thick glass would separate him like a criminal in some interrogation of his physiology.

Edward already wanted to throw off his IV and flee. Not so much from the conditions, but more by worry over the results. To be honest, he hoped Monty would find something wrong. If that was the case, that means he could be fixed, right?

 

_Right?_

 

It wasn’t all frightening, however; Dempsey was there too. Yes, the procedure would not impair driving, but Edward simply wanted his partner there with him. The doctor was grateful to have a man care about him so much. 

One that actually loved him, and there was no question of doubt. 

The marine even attempted to ease with light flattery, “you make hospital gowns look hot,” he joked. 

Edward only rolled his eyes.

 

The drive to the office was silent and pensive between the two as well. Tank would let his hands slide from the gear shift to Richtofen’s thigh. A protective grasp that grounded both physically a mentally. A little bit of, ‘thank you for doing this,’ with a more potent ‘things will be alright.’ The support Edward felt was sweeter than peach jam, yet had a more complicated energy than watching a wolf take down a stag. (A wish to mourn the deer, but cheer on the hound.) In fact, they had even passed an animal preserve on the drive. 

Richtofen blinked, “I didn’t know this was here.”

“It’s pretty small, but they have foxes and bobcats. Wolves too,” Dempsey responded absentmindedly.

“Wolves?”

“Have you ever seen one?”

“I haven’t. Odd that I’ve never heard howling.”

“I’ve only heard them once or twice, it’s kind of chilling,” he shrugged before forcing a smile, “I’ll take you there sometime this week.”

 

The scanner suddenly made a series of loud whirring and beeping. Akin to a malfunctioning robot about to self-destruct. Funny, thought the doctor, if his body had sounded like anything besides the flow of lava; this would be it. 

...Although, the rumbling heat of an active volcano seemed appropriate as well.

The nurse soon gave him a button to press if something went wrong, but he knows he won’t press it anyhow. The tube felt more like a coffin, but Edward was surprised by the comfort. Like home. No wonder the strange burrowing creatures he had known his whole life loved the safety of little tunnels of their own. A tight burrow in drywall, or earth, or bark.

 

Soon, the music began to play. He could recognize it, too. “The rite of Spring.” 

...How appropriate.

He recalled the songs history; the instrumentation was so dissonant and dramatic that it drove the audience to riot. The ballet that accompanied did little to help the case, as the movements were truly avant garde. Strange contortions and abrupt movements telling of the visceral nature of early man. Like roots twisting up from soft dirt, like a parody of what humans appear to be. Allegedly, the chaos shook the audience to the point where the music could no longer be heard. 

It was a funny recollection, he’d planned to share the story with Dempsey.

At the very least, Edward was grateful that the score humming in his ears was one of the calmer episodes, anything else could easily ruin his peace of mind. 

And finally, Richtofen drifted far away. 

Far off into the valley where Alistair and Monty made their home. 

And he closed his mismatched eyes.

 

This is probably what a landslide sounded like,  
A parody of himself.

 

\----

 

Edward stepped out from his appointment with Monty, prescription in hand, when he saw Alistair standing under a great banyan in evening light. The tire swing hanging rocked idly as the man smoked his favorite brand of cigars, yet he somewhat concealed himself to remain slightly hidden behind the twisting trunk. It only appeared silly while the two avoided eye contact, conversing as though they were having a secret meeting. Little did Richtofen know, was this assumption wasn’t completely absurd.

“I can see you,” he hummed while jingling his car keys.

“I’m not hiding,” he puffed, “not from you at least.”

“Monty?”

“I don’t know if you realized, but I haven’t been telling him about our little gatherings.”

The doctor scrunched his brow in confusion. There was absolutely no reason to conceal this. In fact, Edward assumed Monty would be happy to see his husband finally getting along with someone. Then again, his earlier conversation with Al rung freshly in his mind; finally understanding what drove the two apart. As the man who resembled their lost son, it made sense that knowing may result in painful consequences. Knowing had already struck a great chasm between the pair, after all.

“Can you walk with me?” the pastor asked lightly.

Richtofen winced, feeling as though a conversation about feelings was swiftly approaching. Not ideal, as therapy always made him far too soft for deep conversations with friends.

However, the German remained curious about his mysterious friend, and therefore nodded a yes.

As the two walked through patches of tall grass, their footsteps left little disturbance between the bugs and moths grazing the land. Edward almost pined for the crickets and fireflies that lit the fields in summer; the cool breeze was inhospitable to such fragile creatures. Alistair, meanwhile, was impossible to read.

“I know Albert told you,” he spoke lazily.

“He did. I’m very sorry, I didn’t know.”

The old man rose his brow, “I don’t know why you’re apologizing.”

“Oh uh. Me either. I mean, I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

“I suspect you now understand why our relationship started off particularly intense.”

“..I do.” Father Rapt said it himself after all, it was as if he were being mocked. Richtofen could easily empathize given his own circumstances of loss.

Alistair only sighed as they crossed into the treeline, following a path weathered by numerous journeys, “it’s still impossible to talk to Monty about it these days. Especially as of late.”

To the father’s ignorance, Richtofen had silently been making a diagnosis with each session shared. The psychiatrist hardly walked these days, and often appeared breathless after those signature rants of passion. Not to mention the amount of bruises and red speckles marking his arms. The old man even wore a deep red scarf, indicating how cold he remained despite the space heater kept buzzing in the corner. It became difficult to ignore matters any longer. Matters of blood were his area of expertise, after all.

Only today, however, Monty had acknowledged Edward’s unspoken conclusion. He was indeed very sick, and he wouldn’t be recovering. 

Richtofen didn’t want Monty to die, but life had to do what it was destined for: end.

It was clear that the old man was disinterested in treatment, too. Edward had no right to ask why, nor theorize. These decisions were deeply personal. Especially as a doctor himself, he knew to be sensitive. However, he felt it cruel to withhold the diagnosis from Alistair. Even if they were no longer in love, even if one had blamed the other, even if telling his husband was hard. 

Even so, Richtofen had needs too; and he needed Monty. Now more than ever.

And the pastor remained oblivious.

 

Alistair kicked idle stones along the path as he continued, “he was more angry than depressed after it happened. He felt as though god turned his back on him. That there may not be a god. I understood, though. Five children given a second chance at family to be lost in an instance? I was angry as well.”

Edward looked at the bruising sky above the canopy of willows, “I was like that too, you know. I lost my family, and felt like there was a target on my back for years. They had adopted me too, I loved them very much.”

The father blinked in shock, not seeming to know any of this.

“When I lost my sister, my anger drove me to... Er,” he gestured vaguely, not wishing to speak explicitly, “threaten my own life.”

Alistair’s gaze softened, “but you’re still here.”

“I am,” Richtofen muttered with reluctance, “I mean. I came here for that reason. Germany was too painful, but I wanted to remain ‘with them’ if you understand.”

The pastor stared wistfully ahead, “What changed for you?”

“Moving I suppose. Being alone, a pawn to the will of psychiatric facilities, returning to our old apartment after work…” he drifted off before sighing, “leaving that behind for a fresh start allowed me to think somewhere without those physical reminders.” The doctor intentionally omitted his remaining state of self-blame. As well his ongoing suicidal ideation as an act of reparation.

“Well, Monty and I are still here too. After that day everything became a reminder, you know. The last toys they played with, unfinished hot chocolate left on the table, unmade beds...”

Edward nodded, perhaps he and Alistair had more in common than the two once thought. He, too, found pointed empathy in the pastor’s confession; going home was full of finales. The last song Samantha listened too remained open and paused on her laptop. The last sip of coffee leaving a ring on the wooden table. The last load of laundry outlining her unremarkably plain final days. Curiosity only compelled Richtofen further.

“Then what changed for you?”

He thought for a long moment, “time, I think. And Faith. It’s easier when understanding fate isn’t always good fate.”

Edward scratched with discomfort, “to be honest, that still sounds very depressing.”

“People find comfort in there own philosophies,” Alistair shrugged.

 

Finally, the two stopped before a wall of dirt and twisting vines, with sparse vines twisting scribbles between patches of grass and yawning flowers. Richtofen was confused as he followed the great height far above the treetops. However, the moment he found water trickling down across smooth rocks, he understood. A lonely river, a place was never allowed a formal rest.

The old man put out his smoke in respect, and uttered with disappointment, “Monty, however, never changed. He stayed angry.”

Edward shuffled his feet, “is this where..?”

“Yes.”

They stood in silence as the reflected on the golden sunset, lighting the cliffside a glittering red. It had been so long since then, that one would have thought the wall of earth was always here. The knowing of buried bones remained indeed uncomfortable, yet there was subtle joy to find life in the structure of tragedy and death. 

It was then that Richtofen desperately wanted to share Monty’s condition. He could not imagine his new friend undergoing any more unexpected losses. He had the right to spend their last months in a meaningful way. 

Or the change to make amends. 

Or the chance to show that despite it all, the pastor still loved him.

 

“I’m glad you’re still here, Edward,” Alistair said suddenly.

“Be careful, Father. You almost sound like you care about me.”

The man chuckles, “no, I’m serious.”

“In that case, I’m glad you’re still here too.”

With a gentle hum, he spoke, “may I ask you a favor?”

Richtofen blinked his mismatched eyes, “of course.”

“I think you should stop coming here.”

The doctor was almost hurt until Alistair explained softly, “it’s far too painful for Monty. It’s like seeing a ghost.”

Edward lowered himself, he did not require a moment to consider, “I understand, but may I settle this brain business first? I feel he’s the only one equipped to.”

The pastor observed the prescription in Richtofen's hand, “you’re going to the hospital?”

“Just for a scan.”

Alistair seemed to unravel and ease to this knowledge, and the German did not understand why.

“Do what you must.”

 

Then, suddenly, Edward’s cell phone buzzed a text.

It was Dempsey.

He spent the day on a frantic search.

And Misty was nowhere to be found.

‘Said she didn’t come in for work.

‘Said he couldn’t get a hold of Jessica.

‘Said he couldn’t breathe.

 

\----

 

At last, the music faded and a cheery voice muffled in his headphones, “you’re finished, Doctor Richtofen.”

The machine slowly rolled him out into the empty room, and a different nurse came to remove the IV, “your doctor should be getting the scans in a few hours, ok?”

 

Dempsey waited in the hall for his partner to dress, and snapped his head in Edward’s direction the moment he heard the familiar footfall. Then, with an uncharacteristic seriousness, the marine simply hugged him. Richtofen had no idea why he himself initially hesitated, but once he hugged back everything felt alright. 

Tank buried his face in his chest. 

The two swayed in their embrace for a long minute. Even Daisy waved her tail in mellowed content. Neither felt like talking.

 

The drive home was like this as well. Dempsey would put his hand over Edward’s, or run a thumb over his tanned cheek at any stoplight, or grasp onto tense shoulders. The German, meanwhile, followed the tracing fingertips with curiosity. There was no way to guess how the younger man was feeling about Misty. Especially now that she had been declared missing.

 

But Richtofen was the first person he called that day.

 

And, perhaps, Tank struggled to understand what to think. 

 

“Eddie,” the marine spoke as he pulled into his partner’s driveway, “I love you, you know that?”

Even the tone was unreadable; it simply sounded soft.

“I love you, too.”

 

Tank didn’t deserve this worry. Maybe, thought Edward, matters would be better off if he was dead. He wouldn’t hurt people anymore, or drag out his guilt, or feel such turbulent aches and pains. He wanted people to escape him. It was difficult to understand.

The noise had to stop.

The rock stuck in his shoe, pricking and prodding. 

He could give himself to the river.

… Perhaps.

 

Dempsey shifted into park and kept his icy eyes fixed on those longing borealis ones. Then, he slowly felt his lover’s burnimg forehead. Here, the doctor happily closed the distance and pressed their lips into a slow kiss. This held for several long moments while the couple focused on the tender nerves of their affections. To Edward, it was like breathing in the sea from the cutting jetstream of wind shooting up the cliff sides. To Tank , it was more like leaning into an old leather-bound book. It struck the man to bring one or two of his favorites so to read them aloud. He knew his partner would find it romantic.

The younger man soon pulled away, “I’ll call you tonight. I’ll leave my volume on too in case you need something.”

Richtofen tried to smile through sadness, “I’ll see you.”

Part of Edward wished to offer help to look for Misty, but part of him also feared that he knew where she was. (Subconsciously, of course.)

 

Now alone, the doctor collapsed onto his couch, jamming the tv remote into his stomach at the same time. He groaned in annoyance as he pulled it from the couch and threw it to the floor. Edward was already crying as he became overwhelmed by the last two days. Tears and Tears. Falling in empty spaces. 

Of course, the crying stopped when Richtofen felt something crawl onto his back.

The man glanced over his shoulder, “oh. Hello, Enoch,” he wiped his eyes. However, the feline friend didn’t stay for long as it hopped to the floor and began a curious trek upstairs.

“Hey, wait,” Edward called after as he rose, and followed closely. Enoch even meowed loudly with intent, as though he wanted the doctor’s attention.

His stomach soon churned to an unsettling scene. The cat sat unmoving in the center of the room, and watched the wall with a piercing emerald gaze.

“Why do you like it up here so much?” he wondered aloud. 

 

It was then that Richtofen recollected his first days in the house with fondness. He now felt silly to be so scared of a curious little cat. All it did was catch pests while the house was empty. Likewise, the newfound company stilled his episodes of depression that flickered like a neon sign on it’s last bulb.

He finally forgave Enoch for killing the hatchlings, too. The creature was only following instinct. In fact, he nearly interpreted Alistair’s philosophy here. Fate wasn’t always good fate. 

_Right?_

Then, there was the strange unnamable smell of chemicals upon his arrival. Enoch did not seem to mind then, but Edward knew that Daisy felt differently as she remained reluctant to enter the space. Perhaps the hound could smell the feisty cat? However, it was odd for a creature so big to fear something so small. The scent would remain a mystery.

 

Yet now, the cat stared.

And stared.

Richtofen pressed his palms to the wall as he felt his way through the room. He could recall his former dog, Fluffy, staring off into space like this once or twice. However, his parent’s had joked she was watching ghosts. Of course, Edward didn’t actually believe that; instead, he wondered if dogs and cats had that same intuition to perceive energy or sights unseen to human eyes. (Negativity, heat, or movements of the past happening in real time.) Therefore, with curiosity, he faced the wall that earned Enoch’s attention. 

Then, with hesitation, he made a light knock.

And it sounded hollow.

And flecks of something began shifting, a noise like crumbling drywood.

Or...something skittering.

 

With frantic conviction, he tapped the surrounding wall only to hit sturdy wood. The space was a pocket.

 

Both he and the cat jolted back, and swiftly looked one-another in the eye; unplanned coordination.

 

Part of him knew this would happen sooner or later. 

Somewhat an affirming point of no return. 

A collapse of reality, pure paranoia.

The worst part was that the man had no idea what he feared. Was it being watched? A camera perhaps? That shouldn’t be terrifying if he had nothing to hide. What if this was another delusion? The only way to find out was to tear down the aged drywall and wood. 

The doctor stumbled back into a dresser, and by some miracle Enoch jumped anxiously into his arms. (Naturally, Edward was too startled by his own imagination to realize the crowning achievement.) However, the long tresses of silver fur were softer than silk against burning fingertips. He could feel it’s chest rumble softly; unsure if it was a growl or a purr. 

Richtofen curled into a ball and let tears glide in silence, while Enoch remained in his arms.

Mismatched eyes screwed shut to hide the plastic world. Like having something taken, or the tight chest pains of rejection.

“Don’t tear down the wall, there is nothing to hide,” he begged himself.

 

He noised a pathetic whimper for the room to stop spinning; for the sounds of scratching and tumbling rocks and vicious whitewater to cease.

Being watched and watched and watched and watched,

He dug his short nails into his arms to divert the pain.

 

Tomorrow he would find out what was happening,

Then this episode would be put to an end.

_Right?_

Edward called work to take a leave of absence. He could no longer see himself finishing the semester.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That story about "The rite of spring" is literally my favorite regarding classical music. I also remember a reporter saying someone started slapping his head like they were playing the bongos??? I mean: if you take a look at this clip and think of stuffy old people who've never heard anything like it- and that the music literally sounds like what primordial deep-sea fish wriggling across an orchestra would make- it makes sense. https://youtu.be/NOTjyCM3Ou4?t=98
> 
> ...Stravinsky wrote some popular stuff too tho. Like The Firebird and Petrushka.
> 
> But yeah, some people really freak out to the point of needing sedation while getting an MRI done. I think I've had about 4-5 done in my life tho and it wasn't /that/ bad.


	38. Seven Minutes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Dempsey and Edward get locked in a broom closet.
> 
> TW// Suicidal ideation

With Misty gone, Edward was desperate to cheer up Tank. Therefore, he did what he knew best; he bought him a french toast breakfast at Nikolai’s. 

Naturally, Dempsey appreciated his partner’s sensitivity as the two laced their fingers. The gesture alone was enough. Although, Richtofen still wished Daisy was allowed inside the diner. It remained difficult to read whether Tank was despondent or hopeful about his search for Misty.

 

Here, the couple sat in their own little corner while the television ran the news as it usually would. It was nearly an out of body experience to hear ones closest friend spoken about so candidly. Especially when investigators were baffled by this recent disappearance; the first women to be among the victims. All after several weeks of silence.

With this, the only remaining motive was completely lost. 

 

Still, Edward was keen to his lover’s needs as he played with the marine’s elegantly disheveled hair. Twirling those caramel tresses was like a dream, one where the doctor soon moved to flick the cuffs of that handsome leather jacket he loved so much. Dempsey only shivered as Richtofen’s skinny fingers slipped underneath and trailed his arms. 

The soldier leaned on his side and let their hands further explore one another's. Grounded with attention and care; the fear of losing anyone else made the mechanic tender in his expressions of romance. If he hadn’t made the most of his time with Edward, and god forbid something would happen to his partner too, Tank had no idea what he’d do.

 

“I love you, Eddie,” he exhaled into the German’s shoulder, “I know you’ll be alright.”

 

Just like Dempsey to worry about others when he himself needed support. Richtofen would have not allowed it either, hadn’t his phone rang so suddenly. Though the volume remained unadjusted, to an anxiously awaiting man the tone sounded louder than it ever had. He nearly tore himself from the diner seat to answer. Meanwhile, Dempsey sat in anticipation as the squirrely German stepped outside.

 

Takeo approached the table with coffee as Tank squirmed, “Monty?”

“yeah,” the soldier muttered, downtrodden, before snapping to attention, “oh! By the way, you ask Nikolai if he’ll be off on halloween?”

“He will. He said he was bringing your favorite movie, too,” he gestured to his fiance taking an order absentmindedly at the counter.

To this, Tank made a silent cheer with an energetic fist, and the islander smiled thoughtfully. 

 

Nikolai initially had no plans to close early on the festive evening; after all, it was the only night of two a year where midnight guests were expected. (The other being new years eve, where old folks and defenestrated drunks preferred to celebrate.) However, after the twister of emotion overtaking his closest friend, the Russian decided an evening out was exactly what everyone needed. Even he mourned for Misty and Jessica, and desperately hoped they would return unharmed. Though, Nikolai was a pessimist in the end and had little reason to think so. The man was never very expressive, but his fiance could still read the outright depression withheld.

Not only this, but He and Takeo sat down for a very serious talk following Dempsey’s call. By now, Nikolai was thoroughly convinced the murders were hate crimes, and the two made a vow of protection. They were deeply devoted to one another that way. Of course, neither would have the same conversation with Tank. Their American friend was adverce to anything implying confrontation or fearful intensity. 

All they could do was look after him as silent guardians. Hell, they even promised a close eye on Edward. The kinder aftermath of fear was that the couple no longer suspected the jittery doctor. Knowing these were hate crimes, knowing his alabi when the two women vanished, there was no way he could be responsible. Particularly considering Jessica, who could strike like a viper- or a woman who eagerly wanted to pummel the first stranger to look at her wrong. (And damn was she eager.) The thought that Edward could snatch her away in silence was alone impossible to imagine in his state of weakness.

Still, Richtofen and Dempsey weren’t remotely aware of the ongoing suspicion, yet even so, Takeo thought it’d be best to keep it between him and his partner. He quite liked Edward anyway. This was apparent as the islander was more interested in the doctor’s phone call than discussing halloween plans, even if it remained obvious Tank was distracting himself.

 

“- I like that Nik tried a little harder with the decorations this year though. I was thinking we could put the lanterns we carve in the window,” he still rambled.

Takeo hummed with amusement, “you know how fanatical Christians are. One might feel that Nikolai is promoting the occult.”

“The only thing Nikolai should be summoning is a bath,” Dempsey snorted.

“Ehhh, I think so. He’s always too distracted this time of year,” he winced.

“At least hose him down before he comes over.”

Takeo laughed.

 

It was then that the two heard a very soft, “Talk to you later, feel better,” as Edward returned. With a deep breath, the man hung up and shoved the phone deep into his coat pocket before his friends.

“Well?” Tank blinked, and his partner dropped back into the booth.

“There’s. Nothing wrong,” he muttered.

The marine lit with excitement, and shook his frail partner,“Eddie, that’s great! I’m so happy for you!”

“Congratulations, doctor!” Takeo cheered as well.

However, Richtofen only responded by hiding himself in his arms. His face became shielded as his crooked form bent over.

“Eddie?” Dempsey attempted to peek into the hole his lover made within himself, not understanding this despair. Yet still, the German kept hidden.

“Then I. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

 

All three went silent.

 

The mechanic tried softly, “I mean, at least you’re alright-”

Richtofen raised a burning wet gaze as he snapped, “I am NOT alright. Just why is this happening then?! Why can’t I think straight so suddenly?!” 

Tears were restrained as he continued to sniff pathetically and red-faced, already drawing the attention of strangers, “am I just some lunatic?!”

His partner only exclaimed, “hey, now! Don’t talk like that!”

“Then how should I speak?” Edward growled, “just accept I’m losing myself?”

Takeo and Dempsey looked to one another as the doctor hung his head once more. A trembling breath attempting to grasp reality, “Gott. I just. I don’t know.”

“...What did Monty say?”

“He’s just going to raise my doses. Again,” he spoke quieter this time, “at this rate I’ll be a zombie.”

Tank pushed back Richtofen’s hair, forcing the fearful man to look him in the eye. He only looked into the watery stare, a lonely sandbar, Van Gogh's starry night, the aurora borealis.

Instead, it was Edward that whimpered, “I’m sorry, I’m just. I’m scared.”

The marine was almost hyper-aware of Richtofen’s paranoia among the busy diner. (Though, it was hardly paranoia; strangers were indeed gawking.) Therefore, Tank rubbed his partner’s back and whispered to Takeo, “you know if Nik’s got an office in here or something? So we can keep talking?” 

The islander scratched at his beard, “Eh, he only has the kitchen and a broom closet I believe.”

Dempsey looked to the doctor, who was beginning to resemble a pot boiling over with emotion. 

“...how big is that closet?”

 

\----

 

The two felt silly as they crammed their awkward bodies into the room. The door opened inward, too; making it just as difficult to slip past and find comfort. The crowd of cleaning equipment, holiday decorations, and an impressive stack of books Dempsey had left behind over the years all lined the wall like a stronghold.

Thankfully, the space wasn’t all bad. Once they contorted themselves inside, there was enough room to sit next to one another and stretch out their legs. (Not that the couple would take advantage of this, as Edward swiftly pulled Dempsey onto his lap and buried his nose into the crook of the smaller man’s neck.) 

Being isolated like this almost felt as though the two were small creatures burrowing for winter; seeking warmth and safety within each other as the world outside raged a storm. Still, storms were natural, and no matter how cold it would get, spring would always return next March. Of course, knowing things would get better did not make the present meaningless. Richtofen felt so in his state of fear, all while quiet tears soaked his partner’s shoulder. The man only became more distressed with each passing moment. 

Tank had no words to offer, and only hugged back. He didn’t want Edward to lose himself either. The thought that the doctor could forget him, even for a moment, tore into his chest like a wild animal. Even if Dempsey’s heart was currently weaker than soaked newspaper, he was determined to have hope. Not just for Richtofen, but also Misty, and Monty, and himself.

 

"Has Monty told you how to do the seven's-thing?" the soldier asked while settling closer.

"No," he mumbled, still pressed into his coat.

Dempsey ceremoniously clapped his hands together, "then! I'll show you," he then took the doctors cold palms into his own, "breathe in slowly for seven seconds, and think of seven things that make you feel good after each second. Then hold it."

Edward nodded and closed his eyes;

 

_Dempsey, of course._

_Peach jam. That's easy._

_The mellow cantor that Father Alistair spoke in. A little weird, one had to admit, but there was a reason he enjoyed their conversations so much._

_Waking up next to Dempsey….Dempsey was already mentioned. Does this still count?_

_Sebastian's cold nose. Easily the most enticing place to plant a kiss. He couldn't wait to bring the pup home._

_Riding in Tank's truck with the windows down, and watching Daisy from the rear-view mirror. Perhaps a little dependence wasn't a bad thing, so long as one's needs aren't too greedy._

_Pulling up insects from the campus garden with Samantha. Yes, classmates would stare at the odd regression, but the two enjoyed the break from adulthood._

"Ok," Richtofen said stiffly, still holding in his breath.

 

"Now breathe out slowly."

 

And so he did.

 

"Now again."

 

_Dempsey's strength,_

_Jam by the spoonful,_

_Meeting Alistair,_

_Holding Sebastian,_

_Pointless car rides,_

_Bug collecting,_

 

"Again."

 

_Dempsey,_

_Something handmade,_

_Faith,_

_Found family,_

_Autumn mornings,_

_Samantha, ___

__

__"Again."_ _

__

___Love,_ _ _

___Love,_ _ _

___Love,_ _ _

___Love,_ _ _

___Love,_ _ _

___Love,_ _ _

___Love,_ _ _

__After a very long moment of reflection, Edward opened his eyes slowly to an anxious stare._ _

__"...thank you, Dempsey."_ _

__The marine simply rubbed his thumb on the sharp contours of his lover's cheek, "now tell me what's up."_ _

__"I just. I can't do this any longer. I'm starting to believe I'd be better off dead," he said as he slid his hands onto Tank's waist, "I deserve it."_ _

__“You don’t deserve anything like that.”_ _

__"Really, I do," he sighed into Dempsey's hair as he buried his fevered head, "I do. My existence alone must be some punishment." The German was beginning to sound like Doctor Monty, or at least, how Doctor monty felt._ _

__Tank frowned, ready to retaliate, but Edward explained his distress, "I don't know why I was orphaned, or why my affliction was offset so early, or why I wish to hurt myself, or why no matter what I do. What I did. I. I can't seem to die."_ _

__The last utterances seemed to come out forcefully. Not that it seemed unbelievable, but Richtofen never spoken about the lengths his chronic depression had gone to silence him. (That is, that he considered depression an external person. He knew that was not him.)_ _

__The doctor clutched tighter, "I don't understand why with such trauma that I. I had to lose two families as well. I could travel this whole planet and still find little reminders of them everywhere. I thought coming here would make me stop seeing their ghosts, but I only see … ghosts."_ _

__"...Ghosts?" Dempsey asked lowly._ _

__"I don't know. Dad writing papers in the kitchen. Mom painting on the balcony. Samantha playing with Fluffy…" he trailed off, lip trembling with emotion. Something dense rising in his throat. Eyes stinging._ _

__The Marine stroked his partner in silence, a quiet promise of safety as he chipped off peeling paint. Depression was blind, and so was tragedy. It didn't care of a man's wealth or opportunity. It simply came. Tank knew this in Richtofen's crooked form, and mourned the loss of childhood and coming of age had endured.  
The younger man tried, "bad things don't always have some grand purpose for happening, you know."_ _

__"I'm certain the purpose is punishment. Because I know it is," he gritted his teeth, "it’s always my fault for this. This hurt. It's my fault they had to die."_ _

__"It's not-"_ _

__"It IS. I just. I didn't mean it. I didn't mean to kill her," he finally wept blankets and gasped tight breaths, "she didn't deserve to die like that. I could have stopped it."_ _

__"...what?"_ _

__“I kill everyone! I killed her and I couldn’t do anything about it! I killed her like my parents and my sister!” he called into Tank's chest bitterly._ _

__“...Eddie what are you talking about?” he asked warily._ _

__The man only repeated over and over, “I killed her, ok? I killed her, I killed her. I just couldn't confess.”_ _

__Dempsey swiftly pulled Richtofen from his form, and enunciated with extreme intensity and an icy stare, “Eddie, who did you kill?”_ _

__“Fluffy!” his crystalline eyes wept._ _

__

__With that, the marine’s stomach pushed its way up through his throat. He knew what happened just now. For a moment he doubted his lover’s innocence; that the doctor truly hurt Misty and Jessica._ _

__Tank hugged him tightly in silent guilt, even disgust, towards himself. At least Richtofen didn’t seem to notice. He himself couldn’t dream of bringing this to attention._ _

__

__"Fluffy wouldn't have died if I just asked someone to grab the pit from her mouth. Maxis and Sophia would have been on their flight home if I hadn't started a fight. Sam would still be here if I didn't try to kill myself." He wheezed “I want to die, Dempsey. I have nothing else.”_ _

__Dempsey squeezed tighter and spoke with the same conviction as before, “dont. Don’t you dare do that to me.”_ _

__Edward gasped._ _

__“Eddie,” he said again, with more desperation this time, “don’t you dare.”_ _

__Guilt was drifting between the two as generously as oxygen itself. Richtofen now crumbled to his own despair; Tank had lost everyone. Family, lovers, friends... and here the doctor confessed the suicidal ideation which consumed as if it were nothing._ _

__

__“I’m sorry,” Edward breathed softly, “I’m so sorry.”_ _

__“...it’s ok,” he replied unconvincingly._ _

__“I. Don’t know what to do.”_ _

__“You can go to a hospital. For real this time.”_ _

__“I can’t.”_ _

__Dempsey began stroking the German’s back,”what are you afraid of?”_ _

__“Of...this. That I’m not sick and it’s just me. That they’ll treat me like they always have.”_ _

__“What do you mean?” he furrowed his brow._ _

__“Once the hospital knows of my... afflictions, suddenly I'm a psychiatric patient rather than someone getting treated for. Whatever this is. They won’t listen. They’ll remove me from my own treatment.”_ _

__“Eddie, they won’t do that.”_ _

__“But they will! This has been my life, only to be ignored and taken for a vacant fool,” the man spat. Though, He was soon whispering as though telling a secret, "I don't want any more bad news. I don't want this sickness to be 'just me.' I'm too vulnerable right now to be hurt again."_ _

__"Even if it is just you, the doctors can help you deal. They could stop things from getting worse," he said tenderly, “Eddie, look. I’ll be there I promise. No one will hurt you.”_ _

__The German stared, somehow in shock._ _

__“Besides,” he grinned, “I’m not afraid of breaking some poindexter’s arm if he even looks at you wrong.”_ _

__Edward couldn’t help but gasp a weak chuckle while wiping his eyes on his sleeve._ _

__“I promise things will be alright. A few days of discomfort will make up for years of happiness that’ll follow,” Dempsey pecked a kiss to the tear soaked cheek, “you do have options. And I don’t want to lose you.”_ _

__The soldier then rested his lips on Edward's forehead, "I know you've had a hard past, but that doesnt mean a thing for your future. You earn the life you work for."_ _

__Richtofen didn't respond. He had indeed reached the final straw, creeping paranoia that something strange was within the upstairs walls. Though only recent, the pointed fear that struck his core was unlike any other. The delusion was almost laughable._ _

__The fact he had no answers for his anxieties made it worse; was the fear of being watched? That something incriminating lie? A mystery akin to Poe's heart under the floorboards. The guilty conscious of murder leading a disembodied heart to thump loudly in the character's ears. However, Edward felt the noise was more like bone than vicera. Just like hearing music, or hearing crumbling earth._ _

__To think, not even his own home felt safe._ _

__The only way to know was to clear his head._ _

__The only was to ease his distressed partner was to become whole again._ _

__

__"...ok" he finally muttered, "I'll go."_ _

__"R-really?!" Dempsey almost sounded thrilled._ _

__"Yes, if you come with me that is."_ _

__"Of course! I wouldn't dare leave you on your own!" He celebrated._ _

__Edward smiled as he pushed his fingers through his lover's hair, "gott, I love you."_ _

__The marine moved in to kiss his gentle lips with a proud grin, "Eddie, thank you. You have no idea how much this means to me."_ _

__"And when I get out, I'll help you keep looking for Misty," he added sentimentally._ _

__"Eddie, you're awesome."_ _

__Richtofen only laughed as he helped his partner stand, "easy there, casanova. Let's go back to Takeo before he worries, alright?"_ _

__Tank chuckled and reached for the handle. However, as he pulled and shoved, there was the unforgiving clunk of a lock clicked into its place in the doorframe._ _

__"Annndddd we're locked in," Dempsey sang flatly._ _

__The German groaned in his own annoyance, "of course we are. Just text someone to let us out."_ _

__"Yeah, I could do that."_ _

__"...."_ _

__"Or we could, like, make out."_ _

__

__\-----_ _

__

__Nikolai stretched out a yawn as the lunch rush had finally slowed to a crawl. Normally he would have gone home to check on his animal friends. However, with a light drizzle of rain coming down, he resolved to grab his raincoat before heading out._ _

__"Do you need me to get you anything?" He asked nonchalantly while making his way to the storage room._ _

__"My lunch bag, if you don't mind," Nikolai heard his fiance call from the dining room. It was then that the Russian opened the broom closet to find Dempsey with his arms around Edward; glued to the back wall and very occupied. Edward, meanwhile seemed to freeze completely._ _

__The soldier untied his tongue and peaked from around his partner's tall frame._ _

__"Oh. Hey, Nik."_ _

__Nikolai was not amused as he stared into the room expressionless. Then, after a few awkward moments of silence, he slowly began to close the door again._ _

__"Wait, wait, no! You'll lock us in!" Tank was apologetic as he shouted._ _

__

__Takeo didn't need to ask what happened when he saw the three emerge from the kitchen. Richtofen was flushed redder than a tomato as he covered his face. His partner and Dempsey, meanwhile, were in heated debate._ _

__"We were just kissing! You know how many times I've walked in on you and Tak in the last decade???" The American defended himself._ _

__"Because you don't know how to knock!"_ _

__"You didn't knock either!"_ _

__"It's my broom closet???"_ _

__

__The couple situated a plan as soon as Nikolai quit fussing over his own embarrassment. Richtofen would go home and gather his necessities, and Dempsey would drive him to the Emergency Room; simple as that. The doctor was confident that he’d be there longer than a day at the very least, knowing the temperature of his on-again-off-again fever would require so. Naturally, Daisy would stay the night as well, and Takeo and his fiance would visit the next morning._ _

__Though made shy, Edward felt alright. He knew he would keep his promise, and he knew he could trust Dempsey._ _

__Everything would be alright._ _

__His friends would protect him if he couldn’t do so himself,_ _

__He was otherwise healthy enough for any procedure fathomable,_ _

__There was no worry of other responsibilities left in abandon._ _

__Then, he could get better. And he could deal with the heartache of guilt later. And he could be safe in his house with his lover and their two dogs._ _

__

__Suddenly, a figure standing on the street caught Edward’s eye. Almost immediately, everyone watched as he made a double take, and dramatically threw himself under the table with a loud, “I’M NOT HERE.”_ _

__The three furrowed their brows in unison, and turned to search the busy sidewalk out front. However, that was all they saw; busy and mundane foot-traffic. The doctor could see the confusion on his friend’s faces, and figured they may assume another delusion._ _

__“That’s Doctor Yena’s son,” he spoke quietly, thinking the boy could hear him from the sidewalk._ _

__“Jean jacket?” Tank watched._ _

__“Yes.”_ _

__There was still no response as the marine shot Nikolai an intense look, and strut determined to the door._ _

__“Dempsey, WHAT are you doing?” Richtofen whisper-shouted. Although, the man knew exactly what the American was doing. His partner hadn’t let the weeks-old attack slide, and was hungry for revenge._ _

__After some hesitation, the Russian took off his apron and shoved it into Takeo’s hands to join Tank in his mission._ _

__“Nikolai, if you get in trouble again-” the islander threatened, but that did not stop either of the two as they stepped out onto the light rain._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just in case you missed the reference: there's a story by Edgar Allan Poe called "the tell-tale heart," where a murder /probably/ happened, and the character can hear the heart of his victim beating from under the floorboards where he's buried. It's about guilt, and thinking that everyone else is aware of it (or something like that.)
> 
> If you need a hospital, go to a hospital. Know your patient's rights and read up what to expect. Especially if you're mentally ill, a poc, or a gender minority. Having to explain your condition a bit more thoroughly is far better than getting sicker :^/ Ed's just stubborn and also has one brain cell operating his decision-making.
> 
> Now picture Dempsey walking into Nik and Takeo's house like he owns the place, only to find them making out.


	39. Synesthesia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward figured it was time to rest when he finally met the hospital sheets.

Tank turned his arm and observed his newly stitched wounds with amusement. Even with anesthetic, the tugging flesh burned as plastic thread weaved through the deep cut of a beer bottle. Edward's intense stare which screamed 'you're an idiot' didn't make the sting less painful. Still, Dempsey knew his partner was, in reality, very touched.

"You're an idiot," the German repeated again from his hospital bed, arms crossed.

The American only laughed, "at least that guy won't mess with you anymore."

Perhaps that was true. When an ex-marine and a six foot two Russian tells one to piss off, it would be wise to listen. Though the scare had indeed worked, Doctor Yena’s son wouldn't go without a fight. Edward was simply grateful the boy ran off instead of involving the police or going too far in the scrap.

Dempsey complained when Nikolai emerged proud and without a scratch. Funny how thick skin and imposing size armed one for a fight, yet often served to intimidate before said fight could even begin. He was more like a boar in that way; the same battle-worn boar from a long time ago. Edward planned on thanking his friend properly after his treatment; he never imagined Nikolai would extend his protective nature onto him. Maybe assuming so was harsh. All he knew was that he was grateful.

 

Richtofen allowed his act of disappointment to falter as he smiled gently, "you didn't have to do that, you know." Another extension of thanks he owed.

"Now what kind of man would I be if I didn't defend my boyfriend?"

The doctor blushed, and there was an audible jump in the tempo of his heart monitor. Edward suddenly realized all the ways his lover could torment him with his blood pressure on display like this.

"I see," Dempsey raised his brow with a cocky grin.

"You're embarrassing," he whined, and shaded himself a deeper red.

 

With the sky still downcast and emanating a light glow it was difficult to assume the time. However, the light drizzling against the stretch of windows became a meditative hum in the background. Richtofen felt so quieted that he swore he'd doze off at any moment. It was just as peaceful to see the fog-capped blueridge in the distance, his five star view of a forest burning autumnal reds. 

It had taken several hours for the doctor to get checked in, too. Although, having Dempsey walk in while hemorrhaging into an old rag gave them a little more priority. The benefit of such a humble hospital was evident as not a single nurse bat an eye to Daisy's admission. The old dog maintained her good behavior, but continued to fuss over her injured partner.

As of that moment, Edward was hooked into an I.V. He hadn't realized he was dehydrated in the first place, but then again this wasn't surprising when meals were often forgotten. Temperature became an issue as well. Apparently his sweating wasn't just anxiety; as he nearly marked 100 degrees. At least the discomfort had eased as Richtofen's body took in the water it desperately needed. Something for his spinning head, the monitor detecting a slight arrhythmia; funny how all the signs of love were also symptoms of fever.

 

Just then, an older doctor walked in very rushed, carrying several charts in a messy stack, "Edward Richtofen, yes?"

"Y-yes!" he chirped.

The hurried doctor failed to introduce himself and moved straight to the point, "let's see… psychosis, chills, fever, dizzy spells, nausea…" he read. Richtofen's discomfort at hearing this repeated back to him was very apparent.

"Ah, here we are," the stranger soon perked, "the blood tests had shown no trace of drugs. Nor any viral or bacterial infection. Although, your immunoglobulin readings are very unstable. However, when we checked for any sort of immunodeficiency disorder we found nothing."

Dempsey found himself lost in the medical jargon, and was slightly offended on his boyfriend’s behalf from some of the tests. Still, Edward was quick to clarify as he threw his head back in annoyance, "so the only thing you've found are - surprise - antibodies trying to fight something?" 

"Precisely."

The German pinched his sweaty and pulsing forehead, "what do you recommend?"

"We're simply going to treat the symptoms and see having your body in stasis will stop the attack."

Edward nodded in agreement, still upset that his problem would not at all be a quick solve.

"We could also do a quick test for meningitis-"

"That won't be necessary. I had an MRI recently and it had shown nothing."

The doctor jotted down the note, "And who is your friend? Visiting hours will be over soon. We have a family only policy."

"Er-" Edward uttered with discomfort.

Dempsey immediately interrupted his partner, "Thomas J. Dempsey. We're in-laws."

"Ah, alright then," he nodded simply and without interest, "the cafeteria is open 24 hours."

"Thanks."

And the doctor nodded his goodbyes and stepped out.

 

"Kind of a stiff, huh?" He frowned to the impolite stranger.

"...I didn't know your name was Thomas."

"Who names their kid Tank Dempsey?" he rose a brow in amusement.

"I had no reason to question it!" he defended in his embarrassment.

"You don't need to start calling me that though, I like Tank just fine."

The importance underneath the man's words intrigued Richtofen, "why's that?"

"I guess it's like hearing or reading a word over and over. Like, it starts looking mispelled or it sounds weird," he scratched.

Edward nodded slowly in understanding. If someone called him Teddy, his own consciousness would most likely eject from his body like a pilot from a downing plane. He'd probably snap like a rubber band, or think he were being mocked.

 

An idea seemed to strike the marine as he sauntered shyly to Edward's bedside, "uh, it wouldn't be bad to lay with you, would it?"

Richtofen simply moved over and pat the space with his wired hand, and Dempsey climbed in. With arms folded over his stomach, his ocean eyes watch with a tangible warmth that instinctually brought the doctor closer.

Tank soon flashed a gentle smile, "I want to play a game."

_Oh Gott_

"20 questions."

"...You'll only ask something embarrassing, I know it," Edward deadpanned.

Dempsey fake-gasped for effect, "have a little faith in me! You just learned my name and we've been together for nearly five months. I want to know you, hear some of your stories, that sort of thing."

The German fidgeted with his thumbs, "I suppose it could be nice to pass the time."

"And don't even try lying, that heart monitor of yours will expose you easy," Tank smirked.

Edward rolled his eyes, "fine. I'll play your game. But no more than 20."

"Aw, or what? You'll punish me?" he teased, and there was another audible jump in the German's heart monitor. Dempsey instantly broke out in a fit of giggling loud enough to reach the halls of bustling nurses and shuffling patients. 

 

Richtofen couldn't help but laugh at himself as well.

 

"Ok, ok," the soldier breathed, "you first."

"Have you always lived here?" The doctor leaned into his partners shoulder for comfort.

"Nah, I was born in New Mexico. 'Came here with my mom when I turned six," Tank smiled lightly to the memory, "where were you born?"

He scratched his forehead, "I have no idea. My parents must've been undocumented when they went to France."

"Oh yeah, I remember you said you can speak it. Was that where you got adopted?" Dempsey tried; unsure if was asking the questions right, he didn't wish to offend.

"Yes, and that's your second question."

 

"What about your father? You've never spoken of him," Edward tilted his head inquisitively.

He shrugged, "some rando. He ran off when he found out about me. I guess he was scared of commitment or something."

"Oh dear, I'm sorry," Edward frowned.

"I don't care though. if that's the kind of person he was, I'm glad I didn't have to live with him," The man nodded with confidence.

"I suppose."

There was a comfortable pause as Tank searched for a question that wasn't impossible to talk about.

"What's was coming to the US like?"

This one was harder, as Richtofen came to find while he stumbled, "Like...Like everyone is sharing some inside joke. I hear the words and know what they mean; yet I'll never truly get it unless I was there." 

"Sounds kind of lonely."

The German hummed, ensuring the worry was unneeded, "it is, but knowing Takeo and Nikolai makes it less so."

"Yeah, those two are pretty awesome."

"How did you meet them?"

"Nik opened his place, and you know me: I love a good meal. We got to talking and they helped me out with dating stuff,” he smiled, "they kinda got stuck with me."

Edward laughed.

Tank soon turned over after considering further curiosities, and propped his elbow up to hold his head, "Here’s one: what were you like when you were younger? It must've been weird hanging out with other kids, especially when you knew you liked guys so early on."

Richtofen pursed his lips, "I was far more annoying than I am now, that is certain. Though, I mostly kept to myself; save chasing around a select few now and then."

“Little playground crushes?"

"Perhaps," he hummed, "and that's five."

"Are you serious?" he groaned dramatically.

"Six."

"Hey!"

Edward messed with his partner's hair in good nature, "I'm curious though, when did you know? Was it men first, or women? Neither? Before realizing you were bisexual, I mean."

Dempsey grinned, cocky, "there was no girl that could resist this, of course!" He gestured to his entire body, "then I was, like, 20 or something when I figured guys are pretty hot too. "

"Really?" the German blinked, shocked by how long it took to realize. Not that he judged or doubted, of course; Tank seemed too much of a natural on treating another man right. 

The American laughed, "really! Nik and Tak were real supportive."

"I'd expect!" He cheered, recognizing the omission of Misty, but Edward understood why. He instead pretended not to notice as Tank went on.

"Who was your first kiss?"

Edward was flustered as he shared, "some boy I would tutor; around when I first came out."

"You work fast."

"Excuse you!" his heart monitor skipped, "then what about yourself?"

"I don't know how old ninth graders are, but I dated this girl who played on the softball team."

He only played, "you hardly have room to talk! You were practically a baby!"

"Oh wait! I’ve always wondered," Dempsey chirped excitedly, "when you think or dream, is it in English or German?"

"Er, either I suppose? It will switch."

"I wonder if the topic decides. Tak and Nik said it’s mostly in their first language."

 

Suddenly, a calm voice spoke from the door, "knock - knock."

The two looked to find Father Alistair standing in the doorway, arms neatly tucked behind his back and an expression plain as ever.

"Oh, Pastor," Richtofen blinked, "I’m surprised to see you here."

"You know, reading lasts rites to hospice guests and whatnot. I just happened upon your name on the floor map."

Dempsey was uncomfortable when so close and intimate with his partner, all in front of a man that seemed to hate him. Therefore, he shifted out of the bed while mumbling a quiet, yet mischievous, “to be continued.”

"Hello, Tank."

"Uh, hey Father."

"Would you mind if Edward and I spoke in private?"

Dempsey looked to his lover, who nodded a small approval. He only scratched awkwardly, "sure."

The soldier soon made his way to the door, "I'm going to see if I can find some dinner around here. Call me if you need me."

Richtofen smiled softly, "love you."

Daisy followed her partner out in a steady trot.

 

With Tank gone, Edward looked to Alistair, "is everything alright?"

"Yes. I'm actually quite pleased."

"Why's that?"

"I've been hoping you'd get this sickness of yours treated."

Richtofen sighed, "apparently many have. I apologize for my stubbornness."

"Nothing to worry about, I simply glad no one had the chance to take advantage of you."

"Take advantage of me?" He furrowed his brow.

The louisiana man rocked on his heels; an uncomfortable frown and without response.

"...is there something you're not telling me?"

"...You don't recall?"

Edward's muscles turned into a pretzel, "what happened."

The old man strolled to the doctor's bedside, and sat in the chair adjacent, "you practically begged for confidentiality, so I will keep that no matter your mindset."

Alistair soon crossed his legs and reclined, "you see, there was a night where I was searching for Enoch. I was worried when I saw her dinner untouched. Therefore, I walked along the river bank…."

 

~

 

_"Enoch?" He called out among the silver water and trees, "come, dear!"_

_Alistair Rapt had been walking for hours, well after he closed the doors of his parish and when the moon was at its highest. In fact, he was slightly offended Monty hadn't called asking for his whereabouts._

_The dry leaves above shook to the light wind, and landed as boats in the traveling stream. The pastor only became alarmed when he spotted a figure moving in the dark, and swiftly grabbed a gun from his coat. He would not be a victim tonight._

_"Don't try anything," he projected with authority, "I'm armed."_

_The pastor nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard a loud and horrific meow from behind. He spun on his heels to find Enoch on the lowest branch of a willow._

_"Oh, there you are," he tucked his gun away, "come home, dearest."_

_However, the usually obedient cat evaded his grasp and dashed further along the bank._

_"Enoch," he clicked his tongue to call the creature over. Even so, the cat moved a few meters further before looking back to it's master. It was clear the cat was leading him somewhere._

_After some time, it became hard to tell just how long Father Rapt gad been walking. His fatigue from a long day's work, and the uneven ground he hiked only clouded his judgement. Even the air stung his lungs, running cold through his warm chest._

_He was nearly about to turn back and accept the fickle cat's desires. Though instead, he looked into the treeline to find another shadow stumbling in the dark. He didn't need to draw his weapon, as he soon found Richtofen._

_The doctor was breathing heavily and covered in filth, with his work clothes tattered and stained. He leaned against the trees for support as he sauntered over blindly, too. Yes, he moved in Alistair's direction, but it looked more like the German was looking past him. The louisiana man turned to see nothing but the distant blue ridge._

_"Edward?" He gasped, and the man made no response. Instead, Richtofen staggered as he tried to continue forward, and the pastor was forced to catch him before he collapsed._

_By now, Enoch had long disappeared once again, though Alistair knew he'd see his pet later._

_"Let's get you home," he mumbled and put the doctor's arm over his shoulder for support._

_It had crossed his mind to call an ambulance, however, Edward only appeared to be sleepwalking. Otherwise, he wasn't severely wounded or incapacitated (save a few scratches from needle-sharp reeds and tangled brush.) All the old man could do was use the mountain to landmark his orientation._

_Alistair soon arrived to Richtofen's backyard to see the sliding door wide open. If it had been any other day, mosquitoes would have overtaken the elegant house. Of course, this wasn't the case, and the father led his friend inside and secured their surroundings._

_Then, when the lights were finally put on, he placed a gloved hand over his mouth in a gasp. The black that coated the plain white button up was revealed an unmistakable coat of red. Edward again began to teeter on his feet, and Father Rapt grabbed him once more. It was both a relief and a horrible thing to see the blood was not from Richtofen himself._

_Here, Edward absentmindedly pressed his fingertips to the fluid, and rubbed the dense texture between icy fingertips. It was obvious that he was not all there._

_Alistair scrubbed harshly at the filthy hands and washed dirt and mud from the crooked form. The old man maintained his concern when the sharp bristles of the scrub and stinging soap didn't awaken his consciousness. All he could do was clean, and wash away the clothes, and dress the shivering man in warm pajamas fresh from the dryer._

_After all was said and done, he lead dear Richtofen upstairs to his bed, and jolted when a cracking voice asked in a tremor:_

_“Was there someone with me? Please. Tell me the truth.”_

_“...Yes,” he hesitated with dishonesty._

_The voice only cracked further when he begged with desperation, “please, please, please don’t lie to me. Please.”_

_“Lay down, Edward.”_

_“Please!” he cried out._

_“When you wake up things will be better, my poor Edward.”_

_A shaking exhale tore through his body as he lay, and the German continued to weep until he fell asleep again._

 

~

 

"This happened on several occasions," the old man finished.

"...did you save anything with blood?" Edward asked in a whisper, "I could easily distinguish animal from human."

"I washed everything away. Terrible idea to leave that lying around when you're already attracting attention," he sighed flatly.

"I suppose you're right."

 

The pastor was reluctant to add, "I'm. Sorry I didn't tell you sooner. I didn't want to compromise your innocence."

 

"Do you think I hurt someone?" He posed lowly.

 

Alistair hesitated a long moment, so long that he knew whatever answer he gave would be doubted in truth.

 

"No, I don't."

 

Richtofen slowly nodded.

 

"Do _you_ think you did?" Rapt was wary to ask.

 

The German inspected his hands, turning them over from veiny and smooth skin-kissed knuckles, to softer tanned palms marked by occasional scrapes and punctures. It wouldn't be possible that any stain could remain visible. However, he did his very best to picture it.

Just as in his dreams.

Warm black in moonlight.

Dirt under his nails.

Muddy fingertips.

 

"...I don't know."

 

The rain tamped harder against the window, and painted the monochrome room with an overlay of streaming of water. 

Water flowing down like a river.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tank got offended because they tested Edward for drugs and STD's. He didn't know this is standard procedure, but he thought the hospital was discriminating based on appearance. Still, doctors rarely report detecting drugs to the police to encourage honesty. Like, weed + anesthetic = waking up mid-surgery. Yikes.
> 
> Before anyone poses the comment: yes, Edward is a doctor. Yes, he knows diagnosis and could probably handle himself. However, he needs another doctor to tell him the unseen symptoms and provide the actual care. Kind of a 'who delivers the mail person's mail' thing.


	40. Family portrait VI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Letting go" never comes with a manual.
> 
> (TW// Suicide. Please think of yourself and skip to the end notes if needed.)

_Unclench your jaw,_

_Relax your shoulders._

 

Edward closed his eyes as he neatly licked the milk white envelope. 

An entire morning was spent searching for the right words, and delaying the inevitable. At last, he felt like his feelings were wrapped up in a nice little bow. Its very own box on the shelf; contained and definite. Something he carried for a whole lifetime because he just couldn't let go.

(Like holding onto an old collection of books, because one never knows when they'll need a copy of Charlotte Bronte's "Jane Eyre.")

 

He was a doctor now, _how wasteful for eight years of university._

He had colleagues and reputation, _perhaps gone in an instant once they learned everything?_

He had patients that valued him, _only because he was doing his job._

He had Samantha, _but she'd finally be free from burden._

 

Edward's eyes followed the strange creatures boring holes into the ceiling. The company he carried as long as he could remember. They weaved in and out as they pleased; the cluster of tunnels resembling honeycomb. It was now an odd sense of comfort to watch them work. 

 

Perhaps it was the sentiment that he was never wanted. That he was a homewrecker. That anyone unfortunate enough to love him would be punished. That he doomed the Maxis family the moment they met. Perhaps.

 

The tall oaks suddenly tapped at the man's window, and branches sighed their mid-autumn yawns. The setting sun meanwhile, reflected brilliant hues of pink and purple in the sky. Edward looked out to find a lazy street corner, a convenience store still lit in welcome, and a car stopping once or twice at a pointless streetlight to nowhere. A nice view for the final act.

There was a target on his back so large that missing the mark was impossible. In fact, he felt like some cervine bogged down by dozens of arrows tearing through his form. Hunting dogs were howling their approach. Even if he evaded their bright mouths and glowing teeth, he would still die by his wounds. It was a matter of choosing rather he wanted to die by a hunter's rifle, or by his own devices.

 

"How terrible," he lamented, "whoever responsible for finding my body has nothing to do with this."

...Edward grew disgusted by his truer self. The potential to traumatize a complete stranger was no deterrent in his grand scheme.

 

Wordlessly, he neatly set the letter on his nightstand. He used his one heirloom, his beautiful antiquated knife, as the paperweight. Sophia gave him the blade as a sign of trust. 'Just a teenager when he made a promise to keep living. Ironic as it now anchored a suicide note.

 

The letter could not, and would not, be missed from here.

 

Soon he sauntered to his bathroom, and in the shameful reflection, Richtofen stared himself in those mismatched eyes. "Doctor" Richtofen. 

Here, he straightened his awkward spine and brushed his hair, 

brushed his teeth,

shaved away some stubble, 

changed out of his pajamas.

 

Whenever Richtofen was off-duty this was his life. 

_‘Hikikomori, agoraphobic.’_

Although, it wasn't always this way. Samantha would sometimes pull the depressed man from his room, and the two would spend the day as if nothing were wrong. The pair would see movies, window shop, and even do something mundane like get snacks at the gas station. They were kids again with no responsibilities but to make one another smile. In fact, people often thought they were twins, (despite Edward's skin being far darker than his sister's, too.) 

... Those were good days. He didn't get enough of those. 

 

Even so, Sam was never able to finish her degree. She instead carried on Sophia's medical technology branch. 

_(My fault.)_

Edward insisted that he help, but his sister begged that they at least retain one part of the future they hoped for. Hell, the young man probably would never have the opportunity for higher education had he never met the Maxis family.

So Richtofen kept his word and finished his program. He was soon able to be the doctor everyone wanted. That _he_ wanted.

Those long days, ruminating over samples of blood and looking out for others as if he were finally useful.

But then it rang in his head, _'now what?'_

 

It became particularly difficult when Edward would leave his room. All to find Samantha hunched over stacks of paper and crumbling something important in her hand. Then, when revealed, she'd switch back to be the sun in her brother's life. 

Sam was strong. It was clear she wouldn't give up.

 

As for Edward, he worked in the ER, and knew what giving up entailed. A broken spine on impact, cold water filling his lungs, choking and fading. Not only this, but whatever lie in the depths (be it pollution or beasts) would make an undignified corpse of him. It sounded terrible.

_90% of jumpers regret it on the way down? How was this sample taken?_

 

Then there was Samantha. 

 

Truly, there was no way to die peacefully. Suicide is ugly. Therefore, Edward thought himself ugly...Of course, scabs are unsightly too; but when one gets them, that doesn't make their entire being hideous by default. Everyone gets a scab once in a while, but they are always temporary. Dieing was not.

 

As Richtofen pulled on his coat, he prayed his sister wasn't in the living room; it would be too painful to see her on the way out. Though, naturally, this was "Edward luck," and Samantha was indeed working in the living room and _oh God_ she was baking some pastry in the oven, and _God dammit_ she was listening to her favorite music station, and _good Lord_ she smiled so happily at her phone.

Here, her airy sways carried her short hair and cable-knit cardigan in a warm hug. She was clearly distracting herself from something. Richtofen wanted to slam his head into a wall.

 

_You really do deserve this._

Purposed to be a cautionary tale?

 _'I have it bad, but at least I'm not that guy!'_ They'd say.

 

"Look at you all dressed up. Where are you going?" She rose her brow with interest.

"Just the shop next door. I need to refill some medication."

"Alright," his sister hummed, "can you get some bread, too? We're out."

"O...kay. I'll. I'll see you."

 

"Later!"

 

Edward gripped the brass doorknob as though he were trying to squeeze out the ore; all before turning abruptly to face his sister. 

"Hey, Sam?"

"Hm?" 

"Thank you for everything you've done for us. You didn't have to stay with me, but you did. I'll always appreciate that."

"Oh. Well, we have to stick together, right?"

"R. Right."

"...Why all this so suddenly?"

"I just. I love you."

"Love you too, Teddy," the woman smiled gently.

Richtofen turned away and pushed his way into the hall.

 

He had only walked a few meters when he started to cry. 

_'Love you too, Teddy.'_

Edward ducked his head into the sleeve of his coat and carried on, he only hoped strangers would assume he had a cold.

...This was all too much at once.

Guilt and loneliness and a scourge on his family.

_'Love you too, Teddy.'_

Sick and delusional and confused.

Angry at the universe, but more harshly himself.

_'Love you too, Teddy,'_

and the smell of warm cinnamon and pumpkin spice in the oven.

 

The sun was setting very quickly, and the streetlights began to illuminate.

 

Finally, he crossed onto the bridge. Old stone and new steel tethered twin lands. A very far drop, as well. The water looked an empty space. It was impossible to see the currents in the abyss below.

Meanwhile, back at home, Samantha thought to air-out the flat with smells of autumn and comfort food. Her brother's squirrelly behavior was neither alarming nor strange. Therefore, the woman crossed into Richtofen's room as though it were nothing.

 

But then she saw it. 

 

An imaginary spotlight. 

 

Her name in swirling calligraphy on a closed letter. 

Sam didn't even read it, as she knew what it was about. She had to find her brother before it was too late.

 

There on the bridge, Edward removed his coat and climbed atop the guardrail.

There in town, Samantha dashed into the street in a frantic search.

There, he stretched out before the black water.

There, she froze in the headlights of a car

running that pointless stoplight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Notes for those who skipped: A stream of conscious-type chapter where Ed prepares to jump. He gets to tell Sam he loves her before going, and she doesn't know what he's planning. He leaves a letter for her underneath the knife Sophia gave him. When she finds it, she runs out looking for him. The chapter ends on a cliffhanger where Ed is about to jump, and an oncoming car is heading towards Samantha because in her frantic search she wasn't watching the road.)
> 
> These chapters are always hard to write, but it's a part of who Richtofen is. He's always scared for the safety of his loved ones and his responsibility for this reason. It's entirely focused on Edward's actions because suicide tends to be a very lonely thing. 
> 
> Sorry if the length is too short, but I tried ommitting as much as I could so things were clear while keeping it tasteful. (Honestly: I really hate when media is hyper-detailed about violence. I just want to say what's happening but focus on the feeling of it all. Lest it may sound romantic :^///
> 
> I promise everyone will catch a break soon e_e it's well-needed.


	41. What I thought was light, was forest fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dempsey's mind darts among an unfair future.

"To be honest I've been real confused," Dempsey chuckled, and adjusted his coat with excitement.

"How so?" Monty reclined.

"I dunno, Eddie's been so much better," he sighed dreamily, "I've never been so relieved in my life."

The man only smiled.

"I mean, yeah he's still sick, but he can finally hold himself up! You know he actually asked for food last night? I've never heard him say anything like that!"

 

Today was a good day, and the two figured it was much too nice to spend their session indoors. It was halloween as well, causing a light spirit of mysticism and festivity to follow. ('Best to leave the windows and doors open, lest the aura become trapped inside. This town already seemed to have a ghost problem.)

 

Indeed, following Richtofen's recovery put his dearest mechanic at ease, and celebrations were certainly in order. Doctors ultimately settled that his partner had pneumonia; a case that had gone so long untreated that he now faced far more severe symptoms. Although, as a doctor himself, Edward was not convinced in the slightest. Seldom would pneumonia create hysteria within a person. Not to mention his short breaths were nothing new to an anxious man. He refused to fathom that his ‘condition’ had worsened under stress alone. 

 

"Rather they're right or wrong, it's probably to make you feel better," Tank couldn't help but laugh at the frustrated man.

"If anything, it's an insult to my intelligence," he scoffed in a tired voice.

Dempsey pecked a kiss to the German's cheek, prickly and in need of a shave, "as if anyone'd wanna do that."

 

Yes, some days Edward continued to veer off into some quiet introspection or melancholy. 

Some days he wouldn't speak at all. 

But the very worst were the migraines.

 _Damn_ those migraines. At one point Edward compared it to pulling back the excess skin on Daisy's face, smoothing every wrinkle. Uncomfortable and unnatural, yet not necessarily painful. Almost a strain of pressure or pulling that could not be ignored. Tank felt it appropriate to demonstrate, but the old hound didn't seem amused by her new look.

 

Everything was all so fragile, yet through it all, the German assured with each day that he was better than he felt in months. This is how Dempsey truly appreciated the little things: 

when Richtofen could finish a meal, 

when he could hold a phone with steady hands, 

when he would awaken with such bright and excited eyes as Tank made his frequent visits. 

(Like a dog excited to see their best friend, wagging and yipping no matter the duration be 5 minutes or 5 hours! The German had long forgotten what it was like to have someone to look forward too.)

Reliance. Assurance. Those moment's that Edward would be clamoring for his loved one's attention, too. The motivation of a more romantically inclined partner was a mutual joy. It were almost as if some intoxicating pheromone erged Richtofen to please every bit of the gentle marine. 

"I like this side of you," Dempsey grinned whenever the doctor would drape himself over his relaxed shoulders. He was very much awake to the sensation.

Of course, they still had their share of mischief as well. The couple often got in trouble for waking fellow patients with sudden bursts of laughter. Needless to say, the mechanic had lost his overnight stay privileges by now. 

 

O' mechanic of people!

This is all so to say: the remnants of recovery were akin to Edward's pride. Loving men was never an identity that rested in shame. Simply a different, and oftentimes difficult, lifestyle. Tank would always agree that Eddie looked cool with this confidence. The understanding of self. Knowing what one could and couldn't change. Recognizing that to win is not to conquer: but instead adapt. In illness or in self.

 

… Perhaps Dempsey didn't need to be ashamed of his own nature either?

 

Maybe there would come a day where he could say, 'yes, this is my service dog', or 'I need to be somewhere quiet'. Though, Tank couldn't dream of sharing this with Monty. Stubborn and resistant as ever.

 

As of now, Doctor Monty watched the tides of complicated thought overtake his patient. All while Tank shared a porch swing with Daisy. The two partners remained completely unaware of the intense observation, and Dempsey smoothed his thumb over his beloved seashell tucked in his pocket.. 

At the very least, the psychiatrist appeared in better spirits. A little stronger, a little brighter. Even the stark red of the scarf he wore as a shield against the chill inspired a noble figure. Dempsey himself nearly thought a haze passed through the town and cured every leper. Maybe, all that should be healed simply needed a little teaspoon of home-made jam.

 

"Then what confuses you?" Doctor Monty interrupted the marine's thoughts, "you have every right to be happy. The last few months have been fucking miserable."

"I dunno, it feels wrong? Misty is still gone. When I catch myself smiling it's like being called out."

"Emotions are seldom black and white, Dempsey."

"I guess."

"Really! A depressed man can still have a fun night at the pub." 

"You got me there," the marine laughed nervously and rubbed the back of his neck. He didn’t like the imagery.

"Are you. Depressed?" He hesitated to ask.

"Er, no. I mean, not really? I'm happy, but you know. I'm kinda afraid if I let my guard down something bad will happen."

"I suppose I understand," the psychiatrist shrugged, "though, I wouldn't worry about your friend. The circumstance of her vanishing is too different than the others." 

"Yea, she's a girl," Tank said flatly.

"Misty wasn't alone, she was robbed, and she's a girl."

"So you're saying it might be unrelated?"

"Maybe," hummed the old man.

"Maybe she just. Skipped town? Without telling me?" Tank tried as he recalled theorizing the same of Smokey and Peter's fate. He shook the etch-a-sketch in his brain to clear away the memory festering before him.

"...is there a reason why she wouldn't tell you? Why she might be afraid to, perhaps?" 

Dempsey let the question marinate as he considered. He and Misty told eachother everything, even the most embarrassing things one would never repeat. Things not even Edward knew. 

...God damn, he hoped his best friend hadn't shared the mattress-spring story with Jessica. Then _he_ would be the one skipping town.

 

But yes, that's right, Misty wasn't alone. 

Jessica was with her.

 

"Jessica. She was really. Well, she never liked Eddie that much."

"Why's that?"

"She always said he made her uncomfortable?" he said awkwardly, "I know it's just the way he acts though. She didn't like Joey either."

The psychiatrist didn't require an explanation, nor did Tank wish to offer one. It was difficult to give words to an ingrained upbringing. Especially one so common as defining one's psychosis by secretive malice. 

 

_'Something made him snap.'_

_'Only a crazy person would do something like that.'_

 

Therefore, Dempsey sighed:

"Like, yeah, I know Eddie's a little weird, but he hates even thinking about that stuff."

"That stuff?" Monty questioned in air-quotes.

"Uh, murder? Death?"

"Hm."

"Hm?"

"You haven't seen Edward's sketchbook, have you," he spoke more as a statement than a question.

"Nah, he only shares it with his artist friend and your husband. He owes me though."

The psychiatrist suddenly stilled dramatically, "he. Alistair and Edward?"

 

Something within Dempsey said he had fucked up really badly. However, Tank seldom payed attention to what was for his own good. 

….Plus, his inner child wanted Monty to know that he knew a secret too.

 

"Yeah. They meet up on weekends. It's nice to see him making friends to be honest."

"...Do you know what they talk about?" The old man was downtrodden, and the little voice of Richtofen began telling Dempsey to shut up while he still could. Tank actually listened to Edward.

"Nope."

Doctor Monty threw himself back in his chair with a heavy exhale.

"...you good?"

"Yes," he hissed when he clearly wasn't. Thankfully, the two didn't speak anything further, and Dempsey seized the opportunity before things turned awkward.

"I should start heading out. Eddie asked me to bring him a few things before I see him tonight."

As he stood and gathered Daisy's attention, the old man uttered from his chair, "do you think Edward will be fine?"

"... maybe after a long while, yeah."

"He doesn't wish to hurt himself?"

Tank sucked in his breath. Edward wanted to, yes, but he wouldn't. He said so. That's why he promised to go to the hospital. The marine considered if he should confess the little exchange, but he already got into enough trouble for one day. Has Richtofen shared his suicidal ideation with Monty at all?

 

"Nah."

 

"...Thank you, Dempsey."

"No prob."

"Oh, and don't think I've forgotten your little soul searching assignment."

"I know."

"...I'm glad to see you smiling again."

Tank nearly made his retreat before he turned slowly, "...hey, doc?"

The older man acknowledged.

"I know we've been working together for a long time, but. Well. I dunno, you've been different."

"Aw, do you care about me too?" He teased.

"I was pretty sure you hated me."

Monty only chuckled, neither confirming or denying, "I suppose knowing Richtofen gave me better insight into you. Before, all I'd see is a very rude and shitty patient. Now I see a man with such empathy that he forgets who he is."

"That almost sounds like a compliment?"

"It's a double edged sword to have the emotional intelligence you have," he sighed, "it's like your painting the neighbors fence when yours has fallen in disrepair. A good deed, but you'll never find peace of mind if your own surroundings are in fucking shambles." 

"Ah," was all the marine could muster.

"Ironic that you need Edward to realize this. Likewise that your trauma is no longer corporeal," Monty seemed to cross his arms in annoyance, "or to know to trust yourself in the first place."

"...You think I need Edward?"

"We. All do," the old man was reluctant to admit.

Dempsey furrowed his brow, regretting with great intensity that Richtofen hadn't been listening. He knew Richtofen really needed to hear this. Instead, he made a confession of his own just before making his exit.

"If I'm being honest, I don't think it's possible to ever know yourself without other people."

 

How does one know their a fighter if their beliefs are never challenged?

 

How does one know their voice if there is no one to share it with?

 

How does one know they are devoted 

if no one has ever relied on them?

 

\---

 

Perhaps going to a notoriously haunted house on halloween wasn’t a good idea; but this was Edward’s house, and an errand was an errand. 

Playful children teased and warned as Dempsey made his way up the barren driveway. Though, the soldier only played cooly while swinging the keyring around his finger. Perhaps he was scared, but not of the ghosts in Richtofen’s house. More so that he'd stumble onto something he wasn't supposed to.

…

No, Edward had nothing to hide. 

He _trusted_ Edward.

The marine scolded himself.

At least Daisy continued to offer some moral support, especially with her newly adorned sheriff's badge and small cowboy hat for a costume. Truly a figure of authority among skittering creatures and mischievous haunts. There was nothing to fear.

 

Upon unlocking the fine antique door, he was greeted by the coffee table at the other side of the room. Ontop, his sketchbook sat as though taking center stage. Dempsey watched the fine bound journal as the door closed behind himself. What sort of things did his lover occupy himself with?

No, he could always just ask. He pretended the Ibis journal wasn't there as he set his coat against the kitchen island and began to dig into the fridge for a snack. Richtofen wouldn't mind. Probably.

 

It was then that Enoch made her appearance from the upstairs guest room. Daisy sniffed a lazy greeting to the creature's head, who offered only a wide stretch. To no surprise, Enoch only seemed to like her. As for Tank and Edward, they'd never get so much as a stroke in. Maybe the elegant creature was taking after his owner, Alistair.

A strange reminder rung out in his mind. Dempsey wished that someone could have warned his about taking about the Pastor and Richtofen. The marine was not a complete idiot; he knew Monty and his husband hadn't been close. Though, Why his psychiatrist seemed heartbroken by their friendship? Tank wouldn't know.

Maybe it was Edward himself in all this? After some consideration, all he could reason is his resemblance to one of the lost children. Dempsey had never met them, as he was overseas when the incident happened. Previous to that, he hadn't known the family at all. He has, however, seen pictures. Doctor Monty hung them generously.

...though, these days that seemed to change. Yes, indeed! Tank had no idea how long the photos were removed, but they were definitely there in the summer. There was no way he could forget the wholesome photo; an exciting trip to the beach surrounded by ribbon and white lily. He made a note to look for the photos more closely during his next appointment.

Still, it was odd to see Monty sad. Before, bringing up his children would make the psychiatrist very angry. (If one thought the doctor’s tongue were sharp now! He could spit acid if crossed.) Dempsey had long learned to leave the past in the past. God knows if the soldier asked would ask why the sudden change, Monty would probably tell him to fuck off. 

 

Tank watched as Enoch sweetly pawed at Daisy's snout, and attempted to pet the finely groomed fur. Of course, the cat made a swift exit. No pets today, though, all he could do is laugh at Daisy's despondent look as her new friend left in such a hurry.

 

Before anything, the marine resumed his search for a quick snack. Specifically, the peanut butter ice cream Edward shared the day they went to the ER. Damn, was that good. Maybe Daisy could have a lick as well? The two had similar tastes after all. 

He was soon stopped upon grabbing a bag of… something. The man furrowed his brow in complete confusion; a stone figure? Something round but also sharp?

"...ah," he blinked in discomfort, "ok. Dead birds. That's. Totally normal."

He held the ziplock bag of slain crows with as few fingers as possible. Why Edward would keep this where he put food was beyond understanding. 

 

Richtofen took his sudden fatherhood seriously. Cute, but also very sad. Gross as of now, but Tank somewhat understood. He did the same as a child; when he froze his dear goldfish until he had the chance to bury it. The toilet bowl exit seemed too undignified.

 

As he returned the crows to the makeshift cryochamber, he grasped for the tub of ice cream. Naturally, another surprise tumbled out and onto the floor. This time, a small blue envelope once anchored by the zip-lock of stone birds. It was already opened, and read 'dear fluffy' on the front. 

He looked to the sketchbook on the coffee table.

Then the letter in his hands.

Then the sketchbook.

Then the letter again.

Dempsey placed the envelope back in the fridge, and turned away from the Ibis journal.

Whatever was in either didn't matter.

 

Daisy moved to the foot of the staircase, staring upward with intense interest.

 

\---

 

The sun was setting when Dempsey returned to the hospital, and the large windows lining the walls flooded every floor with orange light. He was a silhouette against the burning glow. 

The typical bustle was lazy this time of day, as only one or two nurses moved among patients shuffling out an evening walk. Tank, meanwhile, focused his eyes on following the numbered doors.

_Room 31_

The blue ridge mountains were shrouded completely in fog. The local news was expecting dramatic weather throughout winter despite the storm season ending.

_Room 33_

The drop from the 9th floor to the parking lot reminded him of Helen's bridge. Maybe Eddie would appreciate the place more if he shared it's lore.

_Room 35_

Maybe he should visit the place, what was only a week visiting his beloved in his free time, felt more like a month.

 

When he found the room within the tangle of hallways, he peeked through the window to find Edward talking to some stranger. This stranger was too far off to see from the narrow door, still, it was clear that his lover wanted them gone. Soon enough, the guest stepped into view, and Dempsey snapped into offense. A detective in a tacky hat and coat, like in the starring role of old mystery tales interrogating his lover. 

"What are you doing here?" Tank squinted as he barged in defiantly.

 

Richtofen's eyes snapped to attention, and he nearly choked on his own spit. Dempsey was wearing a cowboy's vest and a hat tucked under his arm. He even had the boots to match, shining with silver spurs and faux leather. God damn how envious he would be. Tank could truly pull off any look. Edward's face became a deeper red as he imagined caressing his handsome lover like this. However, his flustered heart rate came to rest upon seeing Daisy matching her best friend. An endearing sight.

 

The detective raised his hand for a formal hello, unintimidated, "Jackie Vincent. I'm just asking Doctor Richtofen a few questions."

Dempsey did not shake the man's hand. Instead, Edward himself attempted to intervene, "Tank, it's alrigh-"

"You shouldn't be talking to cops when you're confused."

To this, the German was immediately receptive, and dropped his tense shoulders.

"You should go," Tank commanded sternly to Jackie, and the officer closed his notepad with a swing of his wrist. 

Just before leaving, the man reached into his pocket and held a gift for Richtofen;

"Here, you probably want this back," he spoke casually, and Edward took his beloved pocket knife into his hands. He blinked in surprise while observing the spotless blade of the hand me down. 

"Oh. Thank you," he uttered softly, "why-"

He was interrupted again as the cop handed over a thick, off-white, card, "here's my number too, in case you can remember anything."

This time, Dempsey took the ‘gift’ with a swift hand, "I said, you could go now." 

Again, Jackie appeared unintimidated, and calmly left with a tip of his hat.

"Tacky creep," Tank growled under his breath before asking his beloved very softly, "what did he want?"

"Er, he was just asking how I've been feeling."

"...You shouldn't talk to any more cops while you're still here. They'll use anything against you if you give them the chance."

Richtofen sighed, "sorry. I wasn't thinking. At least he told me there's nothing worth detaining me for."

"That's good… Sorry. I was mad at him, not you," he uttered apologetically, "I don't want someone taking advantage. He knew what he was doing."

"Ah, my knight in silver buckles," he smirked, gesturing grandly to his lover's costume.

"Pshhh, you can take care of yourself. I know that," he pecked a kiss to Edwards warm forehead.

 

The German waved it off shyly, and Tank presented a readied backpack, "I brought your stuff."

"Ah! Thank you!" He chirped with exhaustion, and immediately began digging for his shaving razor, "it's about time I cleaned up."

Dempsey glowed, "did the doctors say when you can go home?"

"In a day or two, seeing that the dangerous symptoms have stopped," he hummed with a smile. By this, he was referring to dehydration and temperature; which frankly seemed well taken care of by now. 

"I also put a little surprise in there," Dempsey hummed and rocked on his heels.

Edward blinked, and began to dig into the bag once more. He smiled brightly when he found a short encyclopedia on millipede behavior.

"I remember you saying they were your favorite," the marine spoke modestly, "I know you got your hands full with Enoch and Sebastian. I thought a picture book was the next best thing."

"...Gott, I love you."

Just then, the sound of heavy feet and jingling tags rang from the hallway. 

"Speaking of which-" Tank introduced, and Nikolai and Takeo entered with Seb wagging excitedly.

Richtofen could cry, he was so happy. Nikolai, wearing a pirates vest, picked up the wiggling terrier and set it next to the German. It looked as though the dog’s costume was Frankenstein’s monster by a fake bolt sticking through the thick collar. How appropriate.

"I didn't know you were bringing him!"

"Is no problem," the pirate assured. Takeo, wearing a witch's hat, soon joined with a few stacked tupperware containers;

"We're bring halloween to you," he said grandly and presented the baked goods and junk food.

"I brought some movies, too!" Tank cheered.

 

...yeah. It might have been the medication, or the exhaustion, or the sensitivity that he wasn't as alone as he thought, but Edward started crying. He didn’t sob; simply, stray tears dashed from his warm gaze. He loved his friends so much, he couldn't stop smiling. So much so that he had to hide his face.

Nikolai watched the outpour of love with quiet intensity, Takeo and Dempsey started laughing, and Seb, naturally, began licking up the salty tears.

 

The stain glass project would be finished soon.

 

The waĺls of his home awaited, hiding… something. He wasn't sure yet.

 

Thanksgiving was around the corner, good food with friends he loved so dearly.

 

A killer? Guilty? Or just fickle fated?

 

"I know 

I could never love you more 

than I do now, but tomorrow, 

I know I will," Dempsey said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Back from vacation! A big chunky chapter for you.)  
> Big things are coming, I need to set everything up!


	42. The wolf that shattered the moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward's soliloquy.

The day after Edward was released from the hospital, he began to act strange.

 

On that day, Dempsey led Richtofen up the steep hill to the nature center. The marine smiled brightly too, pleased to finally have a normal day out. Partially a celebration for his lover's release, but more so a date's excitement after lacking a proper one in ages. Tank had long promised they could see the wolves together. Edward looked happy to do so, although winded by the climb. 

"Is Daisy even allowed here?" The doctor breathed.

"I mean, no one’s ever said anything," he shrugged, "if you act like you know what you're doing no one asks questions."

 

The center was nearly camouflaged among the dry leaves, and looked more like a cabin than anything else. It was an odd place as well; almost a zoo, but also not. Here, chain link fences surrounded chunks of land, where animals of the appalachian wilderness rested. 

 

Richtofen became conflicted as they first came upon the owls. Particularly, a cluster of barn owls huddled in the corner, with dead mice planted high for them to pick off when hungry.

"How can they be happy if they're not allowed to hunt?" Dempsey heard him say.

Foreboding to no surprise, but he agreed.

 

In their own setting, red foxes hid among rocks and under trees, lazy under the midday sun.

"Apparently these guys can survive anywhere they want," Dempsey read from a display of maps and pawprints.

"Selection helps. There's over 40 sub-species suited to their environments."

"They look like you!"

Richtofen observed the sleeping creature. Fur like autumn leaves, with coyote-like eyes. Watching as though considering something very serious. Even it's black markings appeared to mimic his own mustache.

He laughed, "funny, I was going to say the same thing."

"What animal do I look like?" 

"A grey wolf, I think," Edward nodded in confidence.

"That's pretty bad-ass."

 

When finding the red pandas, the pair put on a dramatic scene of bewilderment and abandon.

"These lived here millions of years ago?!" Tank exclaimed.

"Before humans, too!"

"How the hell did they get to Asia??"

Richtofen looked disturbed as he gasped, "the himalayas are landlocked!"

Never had anyone seen two grown men lose their composure over the wonders of species dispersal and continental drift.

Once calmed, Dempsey rested his palm on his forehead, "if you told me there's a t-rex a mile under me I'd believe you. But if you told me there's red pandas? I'd never take anyone seriously again."

 

Though, after all was said and done, sleepy dumps of information and ominous observations were not strange of Richtofen. He was still sick after all. Instead, it was the conclusions he made that were odd.

 

They stood in a spacious building, a home for snakes and toads, when Richtofen spoke:

"I was thinking. Since I had a lot of time to myself," he began as he kept his mismatched eyes forward.

"Hm?"

"About the river. It may be poison, but what does it matter?"

Dempsey had a hard time responding. Finding words that neither encourage nor disregarded was alphabet soup in the soldier's mind. Picking out fractured sentences was like reading tea leaves. 

(He didn't know how to read tea leaves.)

Edward continued, "the poison hasn't killed any animals, nor people. It's not like the water made me sick on purpose either."

Tank nodded slowly, "I guess there's nothing to be afraid of."

"Indeed!" He grinned, "in fact, I'm resonating quite well with it's banks. I think it wants to be heard."

His partner had no idea what that meant.

"It's lonely," he sighed softly, "that's why it calls out."

"Is that good or bad?" Dempsey furrowed his brow.

"Well, I have no idea how to make it. Er. Un-lonely? I don't know. If I figure how, perhaps everyone can heal."

"Ah."

Richtofen laughed at the vague response, "sorry, what I'm trying to say is: the river isn't scary anymore."

"...That's great, Eddie."

The German soon wrapped his arm around Dempsey’s own. He, meanwhile, watched with curiosity as Edward observed a timid corn snake among the plastic foliage. It looked like he wanted to say more. Perhaps his mind was alphabet soup as well. 

 

At last, the couple had met the wolves. The great hounds lay idle and disinterested. Not even Daisy captured their attention as she sniffed curiously at her long lost kin. Edward laced his fingers between the chain link fence, staring.

A constellation of a loyal leader who acted of responsibility alone. Fixing the shattered moon. The creatures own undoing. Sacrificing. Accepting.

"You know, the idea of alpha and omega isn't accurate at all. The author who created the hierarchy has even tried to rescind his own publications."

"Really?"

"What they thought was hierarchy was actually familial interactions," he nodded.

"Oh," the marine muttered simply, "they look a little sad, huh?"

"These predators aren't meant for cages. Too late now though, they've probably forgotten how to survive," he watched as the larger wolf opened it's gaping maw in a yawn.

"Or walk," Dempsey frowned, "when I was little this place seemed huge, but it's no bigger than a football field."

"They're still beautiful though," Edward smiled tiredly, "I've never seen one in person. Only heard."

"Like, a wild wolf?"

"I've told you the story of the boar I found as a research assistant, yes?"

Dempsey winced in an undetectable fashion before nodding. The story was told only a short time ago. Not enough to realistically be forgotten. 

"Well, another job we had was to go out and play recorded howls. Then we'd write down whatever responded," he mused, "ravens calling alarms, scrambling shrews, that sort of thing."

"And you actually got a howl back?" Dempsey asked excitedly.

"Yes! Only once, and it was close as well. It was like getting hit by lightning, and you could feel the electricity."

"Damn," he sighed wistfully, before digging into his coat for his phone, "I wonder if these guys will respond!"

The marine was quick to find a video, and turned the volume up to its limit. Then, he held it up for the wild dogs to hear. 

...Oddly enough, Daisy herself seemed far more interested than the actual beasts. There was only a flick of the ear and nothing more.

"They look quite depressed," Richtofen furrowed his brow.

"You planning a jailbreak?" Tank smirked.

"Heavens, no! Hunters are too trigger happy these days."

"A boat is safer on the dock, but that ain't why they're built I guess."

"...that's very pretty, Dempsey," Richtofen smiled brightly, and the marine was left blushing.

"Uh, they sure are," he mumbled shyly.

 

The largest wolf locked it's golden eyes to the doctor's own, and the two parted ways.

 

The couple carried on until they found a trail out to the woods. Richtofen assured he was up for the walk out, but Tank still promised to turn back if he gets tired. Besides, proper fresh air sounded good for the soul. 

Here, the birch lined the quiet hill like lanterns on water. With this, the American held his beloved's hand a little tighter; warmed by subtle romance. Edward smiled and picked stray leaves from his lover's hair, who didn't know they were there in the first place. 

Few words had been exchanged, not that this was a bad thing. The couple only wished to enjoy the moment.

Walking fingertips lightly up the marine's neck. 

Tangled pinkies like fish hooks. 

Tracing circles on one another's palms.

 

Then, suddenly, Daisy came upon a particularly enticing pile of leaves, and pounced into the stack with glee. She soon wriggled on her back, as though to perfume her golden fur with the smells of autumn. Tank chuckled and found rest in a bed of dry grass. Time to let his best friend have her fun. 

Naturally, Richtofen was quick to join, and the two lay side by side.

Dempsey was interested as his partner watched the thinning canopy with wonder. It were as if Edward was seeing the world for the very first time. How he interacted with animals and humans alike.

"God, you're beautiful," Tank smiled into those borealis eyes. Sadbars. Swirling paints.

Richtofen blinked, shocked, before stretching out and sitting up, "roll on your stomach, please?"

Dempsey acted without knowing his beloved doctor's plans, and let his chin rest on folded arms. Soon, he felt a pressure as Richtofen straddled his back and began kneading soothing circles. The younger man sighed a long and dreamy sigh.

"Do I look that tense?"

"No," the German hummed with kind honesty, "I just want an excuse to touch you."

Tank chuckles, "you don't need excuses for that."

"Then it wouldn't be a surprise, would it?" He countered playfully. 

"You don't have to do anything because I stayed with you the past week, neither," he rested his eyes shut, "love ain't a tit-for-tat thing."

"I just want to make you happy," he ruffled the marine's hair, "I've made you worry enough."

 

Dempsey was well aware of Edward's habit of clinging to guilt. He wondered what other sort of revelations his beloved made from the time to himself. Yes, the doctor accepted the river as just that. A river. Tank hoped that rather than accepting his part in other's misfortune, Richtofen realized that he had no part at all. Dempsey would've told him right then and there, but he knew the older man would only accept it if he came to the conclusion on his own. 

 

"I've read that plants can talk to each other," Edward said softly while still pressing circles, "not with words, of course. With chemical signals. But that means they can feel."

"Hm."

"Some plant pathogens actually use it against them. There's one that will cause a plant to tell the others a bacteria is attacking. When they prepare bacterial defenses, they later learn it was insects. Though, it's far too late by then, so they fall easily."

“Never thought plants had an immune system,” he mused.

"It makes me wonder if other inanimate things can feel, like water. Or hold certain feelings at the very least."

 

“...You alright?” Dempsey asked at last.

 

“Of course, does something seem wrong?”

“Not really. I mean, it sounds like you’re avoiding a conversation.”

The doctor paused his motions and silenced for a few long moments.

“Are you?” Dempsey tried.

“I’m thinking about you, to be honest.”

Tank turned to look back, before settling back into his arms, “good things I hope.”

“I think you should talk more about what you want,” Richtofen said simply.

He only shrugged, “nothing that any other person wouldn’t want.”

“I think you’re afraid of rejection.”

Good god it was like talking to another Monty. The intense honesty came from a good place, but it was enough to send needles through his back. Did Edward literally just answer what had confused him for so long in a little over a week? How painfully embarrassing as his lover explained;

“It’s like. You think if you tell someone what you’re looking for, they’ll leave if it gives them a reason to.”

“...where’s all this coming from?” he mumbled, and Daisy suddenly stuck her head above a pile of leaves; like coming up for air under muddy waters. Richtofen watched as she trotted over and began fussing with Tank’s hair, and knew he was becoming anxious.

Edward tried to calm the tension, “I don’t know. I was trying to come up with a way to show my appreciation for you, but then I realized I couldn’t come up with anything.”

Of course, the German assured before Dempsey could butt in, “I know you said love isn’t a tit-for-tat thing, but it shouldn’t be one sided either.” 

(The American vernacular sounded funny in his accent.)

Dempsey scratched, “I mean, you’re the only one that can tolerate sharing a bed with me. Plus you don’t make me feel bad for. Certain. Baggage.”

“Are you making excuses on my behalf?” he frowned.

The soldier laughed, rolling onto his back to look into the curious eyes above, “I don’t know what I want anyway. I do know you hate being lonely, but you don’t want to be treated like you can’t take care of yourself either.”

“Who cares about that,” Edward put his hands on his hips in defiance, “I won’t accept such an answer.” 

...Though, the doctor would agree that his partner did a good job of balancing companionship and self-sufficiency. Space was good sometimes; space left room for trust.

“How about I tell you when I come up with something?” he finally complied with a smirk.

“You had better!”

 

Naturally, worry crept over the marine once more. 

It was starting to sound like Richtofen was going away. 

Like a last gift, or a final gesture before leaving a friend for a long time.

 

"Can you stay over?" Richtofen sounded as a plea, "I want to cook tonight."

"You already know the answer to that."

 

\------

 

Dinner finished a bit later than planned, as the doctor’s confusion made it difficult to remember where his cooking supplies were. Not much of a good thing, but Tank thought it was funny to see how flustered Edward was.

“You can take your time, you know? The food ain’t gonna run away,” he said humorously.

The German only huffed his response.

 

As the two finally had their dinner, Dempsey was quick to cheer, "you should bring this to Nik's Thanksgiving party."

"It milanesa," he spoke modestly.

"It's tasty!"

"What are you bringing?"

"No idea," the shorter man confessed.

Edward fiddled with his fingertips, "I've been meaning to ask, may I invite my friends?"

"I don't see why not."

"Albert doesn't really know anyone, and I think father Rapt needs it."

"Maybe we should invite Monty too?" Dempsey spoke with uncertainty.

"It may cause problems for him and Alistair…"

"You've noticed too, huh?" Tank leaned.

"Yes, but I'm more worried about upsetting them than starting a fight at the table. They have manners."

"Yeah, I kinda miss when he was a complete bastard. I don't know why he's so depressed."

...Richtofen knew. 

He too ruminated on this during his time healing. Monty was sick; not with whatever ailment he himself had. Monty was sick with something he probably wouldn't recover from. Any doctor of any field could see. Still, he wanted to speak to the psychiatrist before making such a tragic conclusion. Certain truths should be shared from one's own voice, in one's own time. Therefore, Richtofen half-lied.

"Perhaps it's just seasonal affective. The colder and shorter days often lead people to melancholy."

"Probably. I don't think I've seen him out of that house in months anyway."

 

Slinking into bed was easy after such a long day too, as the three piled under thick comforters. In fact, Daisy practically fell asleep in minutes, long before the lazy couple. Richtofen, meanwhile, spooned his smaller partner and dug his nose into the crook of his shoulder. Dempsey meditated on the warm breath tickling the nape of his neck, and lulled himself to sleep.

Edward would be the last to doze off, as usual. Here, he occupied himself by rubbing the fabric of the simple black top his lover wore to bed. It was thin for the season, but damn did Richtofen love it. Tight enough to show off the handsome figure, and soft to the touch. It was embarrassing how easily he'd trip into the pitfalls of attraction that way.

 

Curious hands traveled lower, and caressed the warm skin of Tank's waist. 

 

And pecked lazy kisses here and there, hoping to reach his lover's dreams.

 

And whispered German endearments into Dempseys ear.

 

Maybe it worked, as Dempsey dreamed about Edward. Though, his dream was a little too scandalous to expand on. It was just a good dream, and like all good dreams, it ended too soon.

 

The first time Tank woke, a creaking mattress returned him to truer surroundings. He couldn’t feel the warm breaths, nor the safe cradle of Richtofen's arms. Therefore, Dempsey kept his eyes closed and grasped blindly searching. He only found Daisy sprawled out on her side. 

He instead groaned in annoyance and returned to the burrow he made of pillows and sheets. 

Before dozing off again, Tank heard floorboards moan under steps muted by socks, and fingers softly tapping on the hallway walls. Short knocks as if looking for a hollow space that would not be revealed. The marine was too dazed to investigate, and fell back asleep.

 

He dreamt about Misty this time; that she and him were riding a train car vagabond-style. 

In reality he was constantly reminded of her disappearance. He'd wait and wait, like expecting a package with no tracking number. When each day ended, he came up disappointed, but hoped she'll be on his doorstep tomorrow.

Having someone you loved disappear was the worst kind of torture. Living in constant anticipation for both good and bad news. Rerunning scenarios old and new until the response felt just right.

The dream ended when he fell out of the cart and rolled off the tracks.

 

The second time he woke up he found Edward’s hand in his own; fingers laced as he snored softly on his stomach. This time, Dempsey opened his eyes to gaze at his lover. Well adjusted to the dark by now, the doctor looked a glowing blue against moonlight shining through the blinds. The aura was crossing his body in bars. 

It was always nice to see the doctor at peace like this. Seldom did he still himself long enough for Tank to capture the moment.

He held the shivering palm tighter and dozed off.

 

The third time Dempsey woke up, it was with a loud gasp. He was burning out a cold sweat, with Daisy shoving her cold snout against his cheek and whining. Dempsey reached to pet the worried head and let his heart rate calm. Trembling hands attempted to train his fingers against the golden fur. He couldn’t even remember what he was dreaming about. 

It was then he felt a squeezing sensation around his stomach. Edward was holding him tightly and tracing his lips through the tangled bed-head. 

“...Thanks, Eddie,” Tank whispered, and leaned into his partner’s grasp. The younger man was lucky to have his back to Edward, as a small tear pricked his distressed eyes. 

The German nuzzled his forehead against his lover's wide shoulders.

 

Tell him what you want.

Isn't that what he said?

 

"Can you hold me a little tighter?" Tank asked shyly, and Richtofen responded with action.

"...I love you," Dempsey sighed into protective arms.

The calm and silence was deafening.

 

\---

 

Where does responsibility end and sacrifice begin?

To give everything in one's heart of hearts,

to nurse a little crow with a broken wing,

or to listen to the mountains and stones building up. Pebble by pebble, the message would become clear?

 

There was a loneliness and fear the town could not shake. 

He, too, was lonely. 

In a field of growing wheat, and each root it's own. It appears very lonely to a man among it all, but each root it's own.

 

Perhaps it was the children who never earned their life. 'Never found a proper goodbye. 

Maybe it was the ghosts of his own past, causing wounds to reopen for friends and strangers alike. Stirring fear by his chaotic mind.

 

Though, not actual ghosts. It was more of an energy; like walking into a room where two people were just fighting. They will not fight in front of their guests, but one could read the dense air that something was going on. 

In the silence, 

in the postures, 

in the little nuances of creating that space. 

 

There was anger too, 

in abduction, 

in murder. 

Something to remove the reminders? There was no victim profile for a desire to seek control. Matters untamed by free will.

Knowing one needs to bask in sunlight, but felling every tree which took that away.

 

Was Edward a murderer? No. He didn't like causing pain.

But was he responsible for the murders? 

He still didn't know.

 

He only knew he sought control over, to remove reminders, to be forgiven.

 

Father Alistair asked if the sickly doctor felt like a killer. Richtofen didn't know then, but now he realized he had indeed known. He simply feared the answer.

 

Maybe it was fate, or just bad luck, but Edward indeed consider himself a killer. He killed his family(s). He killed Dempsey. He killed his friends. Everyone was afraid to live because of him, and the pain only caused his psyche to snap and tremble under his guilt.

And with that he became closely acquainted with vengeance over fate.

To take control,

to remove reminders,

to be forgiven.

 

So came to the conclusion during this painful revelation: the river sang out their hearts. That is why it haunted him so. As the only one to reach the frequencies water would hum, he knew he had to fix it. The very least he could do for the sins of his existence alone.

 

...Richtofen refused to consult anyone about this. There was no way anyone could understand the burden of his life, the burden of responsibility to a thankless town, the burden of knowing this was a product of delusion and hysteria: but knowing the only way for things to end was to actually listen. 

Confusing and cruel.

 

He wanted to stop being in such pain, and as he gazed at the shining art pieced in his mind, he saw a future. 

A future he was not a part of, 

but his scars were.

 

There was a sense of duty in a man scorned to feel every arrow's weight. No martyr, but as running game to fate's worst.

All one needs now is to stop running. One takes control as they accept dog's teeth. Every bit used is every bit forgotten. Preservation of heart.

 

Where does responsibility end and sacrifice begin?

When responsibility is choice

and sacrifice is duty?

 

Everything was so damn confusing.

And Edward was so very tired.

And strangers painted their door frames with sheep's blood.

And Edward didn't want dog's teeth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I have a complicated relationship with zoo's  
> \- I usually hate meat but milanesa is good  
> \- The nature center is a real place in North Carolina  
> \- A soliloquy as a literary device is defined as: "an act of speaking one's thoughts aloud when by oneself or regardless of any hearers, especially by a character in a play." Hence the really bad prose at the end. Edward's still confused so his conclusions are very...all over the place? Finally a peak into what he's thinking since his hospital convo with shadowman.
> 
> TFW your depressive episode is fuling your fic.


	43. Mercy I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three very awkward conversations and an emergency.

Edward stood beside the pastor as Albert worked above, setting the stain glass artwork in place into a wooden frame. Behind them, a crowd of parishioners gathered to see as the foggy morning dawned. Had Richtofen known the artwork was going to be unveiled in front of so many, he probably would've rejected the project. (Or, maybe not. He would have put up more of a fight at the bare minimum.) 

 

Albert spoke from his place on his ladder, detecting the anxiety, "it's a good thing you could make it. It'd feel wrong to share it without you."

He mumbled a timid response, "you did all the hard work. I just did a little sketch."

“There’s a lot more people than our usuals,” the pastor rocked on his heels, “is your Dempsey coming?”

“Yeah, he’s off to the side. He promised no eye contact so I don’t get too embarrassed.”

The artist snorted a laugh.

 

As Alistair began to gather attention and say his formalities, Edward hardly listened. Instead, he imagined what would be shown. A river splitting a crumbling mountain, fledglings being nursed to peck at their healer, enough animals running the valleys that could put an old ark to shame. Some sort of love blossoming among the chaos. A happy home center stage, vague to suit any viewer’s own. Colorful and bright, terrifying and wonderful.

The doctor looked out to the crowd, searching for Tank despite his wishes. However, he found another. Monty; stone-faced and observant. Father rapt seemed to lock eyes with his husband as he went on:

“There is no room for vengeance when scorned, for anger by unwilling change,” he shifted attention to Edward by his side, and uttered a quote which dropped rocks into his stomach, “whether nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, and by opposing end them.”

Richtofen turned away.

He returned his gaze to Monty; intense and knowing, “the only control one can seek is how they respond.”

 

As the glasswork was revealed, Richtofen remained quiet in his headspace. The shining reflections in his mirrored eyes only solidified his assurance of duty. He only needed direction, like waters carving their path to their destiny in the oceans and lakes.

 

Crowds would disperse, people would leave the morning sermon to their own lives, and Edward awkwardly appeared to his appointment with Monty.

The psychiatrist started before Richtofen could explain, “don’t worry. Tank already let me in on you and Alistair’s little playdates.”

“Oh...are you angry?”

“No,” he said angrily.

“...”

“He’s probably said all sorts of awful things hasn’t he?” he hissed back.

The German shuffled his feet from his place on the couch, “actually, he still loves you very much.”

Monty seemed completely caught off guard as his patient continued, “he says he wishes you let go of your anger because he misses you. But even your eerie calm has been worrying him too.”

“...”

“What stage are you at?” the doctor asked flatly. He knew the answer, he just wanted his psychiatrist to say it himself.

"I’m here."

Edward blinked in confusion, "what stage?"

“Four,” Monty sighed again reluctantly, “does he know?”

“No, it’s your job to tell him.”

"It is, but I'm not interested in doing so."

There was an awkward pause until Richtofen tried, “you’re not seeking chemo?”

Silence, but his mouth still moved.

The younger man shook his head like avoiding a buzzing insect in his ear, "huh?"

He scoffed, “I’ve lived my life. Nothing much else to do.”

“What about Dempsey and I? Alister?”

“You hardly have the right to lecture me on hurting people by refusing treatment.”

Edward furrowed his brow, “that was rude.”

“Sorry.”

Another moment passed, “do you know how long you have?”

“I probably won’t see the new year.”

Awkward.

Until it was the psychiatrist who tried, “when animals get hurt, they often lash out to protect themselves. They bite.”

“...”

“I don’t want to keep biting, but I don’t want anyone to forget these teeth either.”

Richtofen only became more confused.

“I’m sure you can resonate. You yourself have often said fate has wronged you.”

“Yes, well, I guess only you could understand that,” he shrugged, “but what does it do for you to have people remember you that way?”

“It’s more for the satisfaction of self, I think.”

“Er-”

“I’m not going to lie down and take it.”

 

Edward left his appointment in confusion, however, that wasn't the end of it. As Monty saw him out, the entry hall seemed hundreds of feet away. Akin to the illusion that time has slowed down when taking the impact of a car crash. 

The two walked, 

and walked, 

and walked the stretching path.

His psychiatrist began to say something when he took out his prescription pad and handed the note over. Richtofen saw the letters, and registered the words, but somehow couldn't understand what he was reading. Like an imitation of English, or a parody of it.

As for words spoken, it was as though he were hearing them from under water.

And the front door was opened,

Into dense fog that seeped into his ears,

And enveloped his weary mind,

And he was home in his bed.

 

\----

 

Dempsey stood out front of Nikolai's restaurant with a yawn. The sun overhead shone bright, but was still too shielded by fog to bring significant heat. Sundays in the fall were always this dreamy anyway, despite streets made buisier by the upcoming holidays.

It became colder for this time of year, too. The weather channel even predicted snow in the coming weeks. If Tank were younger, that would've been exciting news. Yet, these days snow meant shoveling driveways for people, thawing his truck, and soggy, muddy, boots. At least Daisy had something to look forward to. She loved hopping through feet of snowfall like an enormous golden rabbit.

For now, all he could do was zip up his jacket and search for heat deep in his pockets. Where the hell was Nikolai, anyway?

"Dempsey!" He heard a familiar call from behind, and found Edward walking over excitedly.

The marine pressed a swift kiss to his lover's cheek, "hey! That window thing you guys showed off was awesome." Daisy greeted with a ticklish kiss to Richtofen’s palm.

"Thank you," he smiled humbly before fussing, "more importantly, what are you doing out in the cold? Your lips are ice."

"Maybe you can warm them up-"

"Dempsey, please," he deadpanned.

He laughed out his mischief and plopped onto the bench normally reserved for his old girl.

 

Richtofen sat next to him and placed his hand in the soldiers coat. From here, he would hold and share warmth.

"Hey, Dempsey?" He uttered shyly.

"Hm?"

"I love you."

Tank looked at his partner in the eye, and leaned back with that excited, smug, grin of his, "I love you too."

The doctor kicked his feet and made a small excited noise.

"What's with you?" Tank laughed. Edward's usual romantic and sentimental feelings were suddenly a childish and playful fluttering in his heart. The American liked it.

"I'm always so grateful to have found you, that sometimes I forget my luck," he mused, "loving someone is often so fragile."

Richtofen would have explained further; the communication they shared, the willing empathy, their honesty of intentions and needs. 

He could even confess to Dempsey now, that he wasn't hanging out in the man's pocket for warmth. The German never minded the cold; he simply wanted to touch his partner. In fact, he would confess just that right then.

"I hope you don't mind the intrusion," Edward gestured to the cove he created in the marine's jacket, "I just wanted to play with your hands."

Tank was becoming giddy too.

 

Watching Alistair and Monty fall apart broke the doctor's heart. The two meant so much to him, but he couldn't reverse years of damage, and the powerlessness was agony. All he could do was hold onto the love he had, and at least translate the languages that separated the two husbands while he could. Tank obviously got the sweet end of the deal, pleased to be smothered by tender endearments.

 

Dempsey appeared to grow flustered as he responded to his partner's touch, and Edward became curious.

"I know that look," the older man smirked, "too much?"

"N. No. I, uh…we can talk about anything. Right?"

 

"Yes?" He wavered.   
_The prologue sounded troublesome._

"I wanted to ask more about your sexuality."

"Oh, of course."   
_Perhaps not that troublesome?_

"Are you, like, interested in sex at all?"

_Never mind, definitely troublesome._

 

Edward was red in a split second, and he wanted to turn to dust right then.

"I'm. I don't know."

"Have you always been unsure or," Dempsey did his best not to sound like he were fishing or guilt tripping, but this talk was immensely difficult already.

"Is it because it's me?"

"Not at all!" He gasped his response. The very implication that he didn't find his lover appealing was absolutely outrageous, "I've always been unsure."

"...that's kind of a relief."

Richtofen mused timidly, "are you interested in sex?"

"I am," Tank answered flatly, maybe he wanted to turn to dust too. 

"With... me?"

He turned to look at the German, then quietly shifted attention as far away as possible, "yeah."

"Ah," Edward breathed. His heart nearly popped right out of his chest to run laps around the city. 

 

The conversation was like pulling teeth. This wasn't fear of eavesdropping, (they weren't being obscene or anything of the like.) Simply a matter of growing up in the old fashioned way of seeing intimacy. This conversation needed to happen though. It's best to be on the same page, lest one would try something the other wasn't ready for. Or worse, to cross a line. 

Besides, Tank was right; they could talk about anything. Even if both were acting like they've never even heard of sex, and preferred to be vaporized by the nearest satalite. One might have thought they'd consider sharing a bed like a marriage proposal by how bashful they were.

"Sorry, I'm just nervous," Edward confessed with a chuckle.

"It's ok," Dempsey laughed too, for no reason, "I was wondering if you might be asexual. Nikolai's like that too."

"Nikolai? I didn't know," he raised his brows in interest.

"It's alright if you don't know for yourself though." 

Richtofen nodded slowly, before posing, "I mean, yes, asexuality suits me; but it's not like I'm repulsed by the idea of sex. With you."

"You're... Not?"

"No, I'm just not ready," he was laughing for no reason once more.

"It's a little confusing, ain't it?" Dempsey scratched at the back of his head.

"I suppose it's like: I don't listen to country music on my own time, nor do I feel the need to. But if you play it in the car, I wouldn't ask you to turn it off. We're both just. Enjoying it together."

"Oh, now I gotcha," Tank hummed in understanding, "you're still fine with touching though, right?" 

"Without question! Unlike country music, I crave those talented lips of yours," he teased.

The marine flushed red once more, and leaned on Richtofen's shoulder, (more so that eye contact would stop making things unbearable,) "have you tried with anyone before?"

"I. Have," he responded ridgedly.

"Did you know them long, or what?”

Edward wanted death right now immediately. There were still so many questions he didn't know how to answer, nor to ask. At this point, the doctor needed to roll up his sleeve to accommodate the cartoonish amount of sweat pouring from his body. Dempsey decided to link his arm around Edward's own, and thread his fingers into his partner's. 

“Sorry, didn’t mean to make it worse,” he snickered, “I guess that doesn’t matter anyway.”

"If it's important to you, it matters."

"It ain't important, I just wanna know what you like."

 

Richtofen finally declared with a careful huff of embarrassment, "I think. If the moment presents itself. We can say right then if we feel ready. Then we'll see what happens."

"That's probably our safest bet," he smiled gently, "but if that time never comes, that'll be fine too."

"...See? 'Luckiest man in the world."

 

Suddenly, Takeo seemed to come tumbling out of nowhere, "have you seen Nikolai?" He panted frantically. Edward checked his watch, it was well past noon.

"You mean you didn't see him at all this morning?" Tank gasped

"No! None of our animals were fed either, he would never leave before that."

Dempsey turned to his partner, "Eddie, you didn't see him on your walk down?"

"N-no," he said with uncertainty. Not like he could remember half the day in the first place.

Tank had never seen Takeo panic in his life. The islander; normally collected and thoughtful, was now pacing and threading his fingers through his hair in anxiety.

"Tak, calm down, alright? We'll find him," Dempsey urged, "I'll check around town and you can look around the neighborhood. Maybe some animal ran off and he chased it."

Takeo breathed and nodded with confidence.

"And me?" Richtofen said softly.

"Oh, uh, you can. Uh," he struggled to think, but his better half spoke first.

"I can speak to Albert, he lives in the mountains with a view of the whole place."

"Alright," Tank nodded, "phones on everyone."

Just before breaking off, the mechanic made one last attempt to reach Edward's dull memory, "are you sure you haven't seen him, doc?"

Richtofen blinked, "I swear." Until he felt a lump in his throat. It was heavy and screaming 'Oh Gott they think I've hurt him. 

_Dempsey_ thinks I've hurt him.'

The three parted ways with a dash, and Takeo knew the very first place he'd look. Though, he would need a shovel.

 

\---

 

It had been several hours of asking each shop owner and familiar stranger, when Tank came across the appalachian crafts store; a place with some old friends. He already knew they wouldn't have any idea where Nik was, but he and Daisy needed a break in the warmth. His lungs practically stung needles from the cold air.

The bell rang as he threw open the door to the tacky storefront. There, a giant metal giraffe looked down on him. The younger man never understood the giraffe motifs of a lot of the sculptures.

"Tank, it's been a while!" Russman appeared at the counter to shake his hand.

"Sup, officer," The marine took the gesture. Russman was also a vetran, however, he served in Vietnam. That was the end of all he knew about the old man, as not even he himself could recall much. Hell, he often forgot if Russman was his first or last name.

"What brings you here?" He chirped.

"I'm looking for Nikolai; big Russian guy, ginger?"

"Oh, Russman remembers Nikolai. 'Haven't seen a damn soul today though," he responded in third person. His usual way.

"The place for small business is coming to an end!" He heard a familiar lamenting a few aisles down.

"Oh, hey Stu," Tank said a little less enthusiastically when the man revealed himself.

"I hear your friend is missing?" The curious man prodded.

"Yeah, Nikolai. You seen him?"

"No," he hummed before disappearing behind the register, "but I may have a few ideas."

"Like?"

The small sliver of interest was enough to greenlight the now excited Stuliger.

Russman facepalmed, "god, Stu, don't get the folder. The man's distressed!"

But he got the folder, and oh, it was a big one.

"So!" He slammed it down like a textbook and began flipping for a specific page, but his coworker tried to save Tank.

"You can go, we'll call if we see him," Russman tried to help.

"...I kinda want to see where this goes," he admitted.

Stu lit up, "you'll be glad you did! So: I've been following this case for a while, and I did some digging."

Dempsey took a seat as the man set the stage with everything he had found:

 

It was mid-summer when the first disappearance took place; Peter McCain. Severed body parts, but still missing most of his remains. Found in a gutter. A perfect amputation.

 

A few weeks later there's another; some unidentified body. Severed, missing body parts, found by a storm drain, precision cuts.

 

"So already there's a pattern! Dumping into bodies of water. Surgeon-like precision."

Tank already didn't like the inference. He heard it before.

"And, the second body appears to get you off the hook with the cops."

 

There are other victims too; if they weren't found by water they're not found at all. Needless to say two of these victims were professors where Edward worked as well.

 

"Sometimes this killer gets lazy. No disassembling, just lots of blood. Like his health is fluctuating… he can only do so much heavy lifting."

Now Tank knows he really doesn't like this.

 

"And that leads us to your boyfriend: Edward Richtofen. History of violence, orphaned, both families died under weird circumstances, a medical background- the whole thing!" Stu said with an inappropriate excitement.

"Eddie is not a killer," he growled, "if were looking at behavior, you should be the one checked out."

 

"No disappearances when he was at the hospital, either," Stu had mused.

 

"..."

 

"There's one report I found where he gave someone a concussion after beating them with a statue! 42 stitches!"

 

"Kids do stupid things."

 

"He was well into his 20s!"

 

"Shut up!"

 

"He came back to the US on a split second decision too, maybe he did something in Germany…."

 

The marine barked again, "he'd never hurt anyone."

 

"Makes sense that he would get less stable after seeing what he's done then, right?" 

 

Right?

 

Dempsey stormed out, but as he pushed past the door, Stu called after him, "that's not even the beginning, Dempsey! People have been disappearing for years!"

 

"He might not be working alone!"

 

Silence as fists were clenched.

 

"I'd check by rivers if I were you!"

 

The marine didn't stop.

 

It wasn’t fair, he often thought. Just because Edward was a little squirrely and dramatic, even moody at times, he was always the scapegoat. 

Just because he was schizoaffective. 

Just because his defenses fell on unwilling ears.

Tank knew this of his lover; but unlike strangers, he also saw someone sensitive and caring, completely independent, and so god damn smart. Full of love and only interested in a quiet life where he feels valued.

People were so afraid of what they couldn’t understand. Maybe Dempsey couldn’t understand what his partner was dealing with either, but he knew the territory of emotional conflict and physical impairment, and he knew no one deserves to be alone when dealing.

 

Edward was good. He only worried about his impact on others.

 

His violence was only to heal, like his back-alley surgery on that happy little franken-dog of his.

 

Or to protect; Dempsey refused to think his lover would concuss anyone unless they deserved it.

 

A man who knew himself well, and knew not to fear his life long conditions.

Knowing his own schizoaffective mind to understand and live with the holes in reality.

‘Just a little nervous, a little childish, a little lonely, a little confused.

 

And this sickness wasn’t looking like Joey’s anymore.

 

What could trigger the onset of such dramatic change? An exaggeration of symptoms? Sudden experience of auditory and tactile hallucinations?

 

In the distance, Dempsey saw a crowd gather noisily. There, in the middle, was Edward kneeling next to a screaming woman; bloody and holding something close.

He dashed over as fast as he could and shoved his way to the center.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Alistair was quoting the Hamlet act 3 where he's literally like "I dunno if I should die or be mad." Weirdly it's a soliloquy in the play??? Even though he's not, like, alone? I dunno but it works and god knows Alistair prefers to dance around topics than get to the point.
> 
> \- “He’s probably said all sorts of awful things hasn’t he?” is directly off revelations.
> 
> \- Monty is literally "I'm never going to apologize I'm just going to die mad."
> 
> \- Ed is awkward because Ace and confused, Dempsey is awkward because he's only been with one other person for the past few years.
> 
> \- Also following canon because Dempsey is open about talking about things like that, and Edward is too but it's more followed by "oh god what am I saying jesus christ *awkward laughing*"


	44. Mercy II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Oh."_

Admittedly, Edward was completely down-trodden as he searched for Icarus Leadlight. It broke the doctor's heart to watch the inkling of doubt become an encompassing black spot on his fragile self esteem.

"Don't start crying again," he scolded himself with a sneer. He was tired of crying. 

November was far too beautiful to obscure with tears anyway. Leaves and acorns made too satisfying a crunch under his boots to block out with woeful gasping.

 

Saddened by loneliness, but soon smile at the thought of Dempsey. 

Angry at what life he was given, then grateful for the life he earned. 

These days were starting to become far too exhausting to endure any longer. By now, lying down and giving up sounded more rewarding than constant fear. All he could think of in that moment was Alistair's speech. It was like the pastor somehow knew what he was thinking. 

What he was planning, rather.

 

Both terrifying and kind, to know suicidal ideation on one's face, but likewise see that confrontation would create something vicious within Richtofen's heart. The words better reached him this way, less cataclysmically too. Each lonely man requires something specific to feel heard after all, and often, that something is vastly different from another's. 

Edward knew Dempsey required intervention, or he would never admit struggle. To the stubborn marine: dancing around the topic for an opening sounded more like a person attempting to hear him, but doing a terrible job at it. Borderline offensive.

Yet even now, Richtofen didn't want to be understood anymore. The shakespearean words were the last grain of rice to tip the scale. The only need that remained was to put an end to the inevitable terror he inspired; whether or not he was actually the killer.

 

After Edward reached the familiar shop, he tiredly pushed his way inside with the ringing bell. Albert was in his usual place at the desk, sketching.

“Oh, hey Ed. I didn’t expect to see you again today,” he raised his brows, interested. The shop smelled completely of pumpkin and cinnamon, a plate of warm bread by his side.

"Yeah, everyone liked your work, huh?" he said while sitting across the table.

" _Our_ work."

Richtofen rolled his eyes.

"What brings you here, anyway?" The artist closed his journal neatly, and pushed the plate to his guest.

He blinked and declined the offer. 

It's not uncommon to forget something the moment one walks into a room, but this instance seemed more like his psyche was mocking him. He didn't want to admit having no idea what he was doing there, and was swift on his feet. 

 

"I wanted to ask you to come to thanksgiving dinner. You disappeared after Father Rapt finished his speech."

Albert didn't notice the confusion as he recoiled, "ehh, you know how I feel about stuff like that…"

"Just this once?" He pleaded, "it would mean a lot if you finally met Dempsey."

He only scratched uncomfortably at his stubble.

"Please, I just want a nice evening with everyone I care about," Edward spoke with sentiment.

"...I'll see what I can do."

To this, the doctor exhaled a satisfied sigh, "thank you. Even having you there for an hour would make things perfect. You're easily my closest friend."

"...'you going somewhere?" Albert asked suspiciously.

The German was startled as he stuttered a feeble, "no?"

"Ok," he replied simply, and failed to elaborate. However, Richtofen was far too interested to let his friend's mind wander.

"Why do you ask?"

Albert shuffled in discomfort, "I dunno, you're being cryptic lately."

"O.Oh," the darker man mumbled, already regretting his prying, "I mean, Thanksgiving is about being grateful. You and all the others have made my coming here worthwhile."

"Ah," he said distantly once more, almost as though he half-believed, "is Father Alistair going?"

"Yes, and Monty."

Al cringed again, but Richtofen was quick to assure, "they know how to behave, don't worry. Plus, it's my house so I'll hold them to it."

 

In the mirrored eyes of one another, the artist searched for something. Seldom was he overcome with genuine worry, but this instance left him guessing. The way Edward was speaking, with heavy emotion and wistful longing, was upsetting. Yes, the doctor was indeed nostalgic for his past; but he treated the present with curiosity and purpose. Though, now, it sounded like he was far off in the future, looking back at this moment with sadness. 

Like a man so caught up in a freezing winter, that he forgot that the beautiful fall was currently right outside his door. 

Or one so hurt over an inevitable ending, that they forget that the story still unfolds before them here.

Al didn't know what it meant, and instead tried to connect in his own way.

 

"It was bank fraud. Forgery, too."

"Huh?" Richtofen furrowed his brow at the sudden comment.

"You used to ask what I went to jail for. I was a conman, basically."

"...if I'm being honest I'm a bit relieved," he chuckled after long hesitation, "I've been leaving far too much to my imagination."

Al smirked, "I used to work for the DeLuca family. I quit, but we've known each other long enough that he didn't kill me."

"Oh dear," he squeaked.

"The guys I used to work with though? They just got out on parole. I offered them work, so you might see them around soon."

"Is one of them from that 'complicated relationship' of yours?" Richtofen teased.

"Both of them actually. We go way back," he grinned.

"Did you meet them while you were incarcerated?"

"Nah, we used to work together. Finn was the money maker, and Billy was the muscle."

Edward made an awkward face, but Al just laughed at the mortified expression, "Don't worry though. If anything, I can guarantee no one will mess with ya anymore."

 

The doctor sighed slowly. It was a little too late for that.

 

"I was thinking though," the artist spoke, "since you want me to meet your Dempsey, you can meet my pals too? They're rough around the edges, but I know you'll love them."

Now Richtofen understood what was going on here. This was a warning. He was setting up a promise that'd stop Edward from doing something stupid. Because he'd have to meet those important to his best friend.

"I think I'd like them too," he smiled, obviously avoiding a proper answer. Yet, this was honesty; Edward seemed to be drawn to the misunderstood and reckless. Then, before any retaliation, he switched the conversation. He remembered what brought him here.

 

"That reminds me, you said you live up in the mountains?"

"That's right," he leaned.

"Have you seen my friend Nikolai? His fiance couldn't find him, so I thought to ask you while they searched town."

Albert scratched his stubble once again, trying to recall, "Nikolai, Nikolai, Nikolai…"

Suddenly, he snapped his blackened fingers, "oh, the Russian guy. I saw him sitting behind that old apartment complex. He was real deep in the woods though."

Richtofen nearly raised his hands in praise, "thank goodness! That's such a relief."

"I can mark the area on your phone if you want."

"Please," he said while eagerly handing his phone over.

The artist quietly set the area, "hey. Don't let people's doubt become yours, ok?"

"It's hard not to!"

"I know you're a good guy, Ed."

"I'm inclined to disagree. I've made someone very angry to be the target of their tricks," he sneered.

"...have you made someone mad?"

The German blinked slowly, the only person who hurt him was out of greif. There was no one else angry at him besides himself.

"I haven't."

Al handed back the phone, "if you ever feel like you're in danger, don't be afraid to call on me.

"Thank you," he tried to smile.

 

And as Richtofen zipped his bag, he reached out;

 

“Hey, Albert?” Edward was reluctant to ask as he stood.

“Hm?”

“I think I may hold on to your gun, if you haven’t changed your mind.”

The artist blinked, and observed his friend’s anxious posture. Then, he calmly ducked below the counter, and pulled up a small steel case.

“you know how to use one of these?" he hummed as he flipped the locks to reveal a very fine revolver.

"I do," he nodded simply. Edward recalled his former mentor showing him how to use one similar. When working in a forest home to wolves, boars, and other territorial beasts, it was a necessary precaution. Though, he had never actually owned one for himself. Guns were quite scary.

Richtofen was handed both the revolver and a holster, where it was tucked away neatly after a brief inspection; his hands posed like handling a newborn. It was apparent that old feelings did not change: the power of something so small frightened him. Even so, Edward knew his pocket knife alone was no longer enough to defend himself when this new type of beast lurked. If he died, it would be on his own terms.

“I’m only giving you 6 bullets, alright?" Al spoke as he gingerly placed the shining silver in Richtofen's hand, "it should be enough to at least scare someone off.”

He nodded an anxious response, “thank you, Albert.”

“Don’t mention it-” he began, but was cut off by a blood-curdling cry from out on the street.

“WHAT in the goddamn hell?!?” he gasped instead. 

 

Albert and Richtofen dashed out front to find a woman across the road struggling. She was propped against a tree, clutching her stomach and crying out in pain. The pair looked each other incredulously in the eye, and dashed to her aid.

The artist spoke first, “what’s wrong?”

“What does it look like?” she growled, “my goddamn baby is coming. I-” she plopped onto the bench, “SHIT.”

"Did you come here in a car?" 

“It’s on the other side of town...”

“Someone call an ambulance-” Albert already began to shout, but was cut once more.

“Don’t you DARE. As long as I’m conscious, I am NOT paying 5,000 dollars for a little joyride.”

"...fair enough" he mumbled.

"Don't worry, I'm a doctor. Let me help," Edward said gently.

That was when the woman finally looked the two in the eye, and it wasn't a moment longer until she cried in terror, "get away from me!"

"H. Huh?"

"You're the creep who nearly crushed me in that diner!"

He and Al searched the other for a hint on what she was talking about, but found nothing.

"You started freaking at nothing and flipped out of your booth into mine!"

The doctor still had no idea what she was talking about, but still figured that it sounded like something he would do. Yet thankfully, his friend was there to defend him.

"Listen lady, unless you know any other doctors we have to get you an ambulance."

She frowned, "ugh, fine I- SHIT," and clutched herself again, "DO SOMETHING, DAMNIT." 

Apparently that brief encounter many months ago wasn't worth a hospital bill that would take years to pay off.

 

So that's what Edward did. 

 

Something.

 

\---

 

When all was said and done, Albert played the loyal nurse, bringing hot water and towels, gloves and an apron, anything to help. Neither he nor Edward expected much of equipment to blow glass could also stock a doctor's office.

As for Al alone, he also didn't expect the woman's grasp to be so painful. Offering his hand was all for good manners, but soon regretted as Albert swore every single bone in his palm was crushed by the unyielding squeeze. Although he began to cry out more than the woman, he assured a promising and strained, 'don't worry, I'm a right-y anyway.'

Edward heard Al mumble a low, "I'm never having kids," as he slipped inside to call the woman's friend for a ride.

 

And that was when Dempsey made a frantic entrance. He shoved his way straight to the center, looking as though he were going to find a terrible scene. He never felt so great about being wrong.

 

"Look, Dempsey!" Edward squeaked happily while presenting a newborn wrapped in towels, "a baby!" 

It almost sounded like he just found it laying around, a shiny penny smiling back at him. The bloodied smock and long latex gloves he wore didn't help process the sight, but it was strangely endearing.

 

There was a huge sigh of relief to wash over the marine. 

 

Then guilt as he once again doubted his gentle partner. 

 

Then happiness for the heartwarming scene.

 

"Oh, Eddie," he smiled with emotion choking his throat. That was, until snickering,"you should probably give it back to mom."

"Hm?" The doctor mused distractly as he cradled the child close, and then frantically did so as he noticed her annoyed stare, "oh! Oh, of course."

"Thank you, doctor," mom smiled, a little kinder this time. 

 

After being surrounded by death for so long, Dempsey nearly forgot how exciting life was. Richtofen looked so happy, like he was right where he belonged. He continued to speak excitedly as Tank watched with a loving gaze, "I couldn't have done it without Albert of course. I don't think he'll be coming back though, he looked rather. Er. Exhausted."

"It's alright, I’ll meet him on thanksgiving."

"That's not all, though. He's seen Nikolai!"

"Thank god," Dempsey sighed dramatically, and shoved his lover playfully, “you should probably clean yourself up first."

The doctor glanced at his sweating form only briefly, "that's probably a good idea."

 

\-----

 

After cleaning up, Edward shared all the details Albert gave. However, Takeo was neither as excited or relieved as one thought he would be. 

“Probably expecting I'm leading him to a body," Richtofen hissed to himself.

From behind, his partner observed Takeo's blackened hands, "damn, where did you look? A chimney?" The American wanted to make a joke about Nikolai's similar appearance to Santa Claus, but would hold back until he knew Nikolai was safe. He made a note on his phone.

Instead, Dempsey attempted to lighten the mood, "you should've seen, Tak. Everyone was so excited, Eddie was amazing."

The doctor only grumbled in embarrassment. Tank hadn't stopped praising him since they met up. Richtofen had no idea he liked children that much, though, even he himself was so involved that he had to be told to surrender the newborn. Perhaps kids would be in the German's future after he got better? Of course, he'd likely adopt; it only felt right when Edward had such wonderful parents to take him in as well. Was it inappropriate to think of parenting with Tank so suddenly? Maybe. 

“Sometimes I wish Daisy got the chance to have puppies,” Dempsey grinned brightly, “can you imagine? A bunch of little Daisies running around?” 

The retriever wagged lazily.

Takeo was still silent.

 

Soon enough, through the sticks of the Carolina wilderness and crunching leaves, they came upon a large rock; and from behind they could only see Nikolai's head.

"N. Nikolai?" His fiance asked wearily, but to no response.

"Nikki!" He tried again, and to everyone's relief, the figure shifted. In fact, all three didn't realize they were holding their breath until their collective exhale.

Then, Takeo's worry quickly became anger, "Nikolai!" And the Russian snapped his head in their direction.

"Oh, friends!" He cheered excited, "look what Nikolai found!" And presented a small golden puppy. It's eyes weren't even open yet. 

Naturally, Daisy was the first to approach the pup, before greeting the gentle mother laying by his side. Edward, meanwhile, recoiled as his friend sounded completely unaware of what he had done.

Dempsey nearly fawned too, but quickly shut his mouth as Takeo stomped over. Never had anyone seen such anger, or think it was possible from someone so passive. 

Nikolai already knew what was coming. 

He didn't try to avoid it as he set the pup among several others and the sweet-faced mother, and stood. Once face-to-face, the islander raised his hand ready to slap his partner into next week. 

But then Takeo hesitated,

And wavered,

And after screwing his eyes shut,

He simply rested the heavy hand softly onto Nikolai's chest.

A quiet voice trembled, "don't. Don't you do this to me ever again."

The islander then fell into Nik's arms and squeezed as tight as he could. The forest became so quiet that one could hear every little burrowing creature preparing for snow.

 

As it turns out, In an uncertain time of murderers and abductors, the Russian found an injured labrador slinking across the backyard early morning. Without hesitation he went to follow before she disappeared among the fog, where she made a den out of abandoned tires and earth. The rest of the morning was spent warming the gentle pups one by one, so to safely bring them home. Dempsey desperately wanted to hold one, but couldn't find the space to ask between the stressful tension in the air.

 

Takeo and Nikolai's plans to stay alert were forgotten.

 

"I thought I lost you," Takeo uttered miserably into his fiance's chest. Edward only observed with a nauseous feeling in his gut. 

It was nice to see new life at last. Rather human or pup, it reminded the doctor of family. There would be no doubt that these labrador puppies would find homes; anyone could have a soft spot for something so pure.

 

That's right, living was only partly made of observation; the rest is one's response to it. This is the one way anyone could control their fate, after all. Today was one of those little experiences that would remain with the four. To choose doubt or worry, anger or despair; all in the face of uncertainty. Birth was present too. Birth of young, birth of revelation, birth of change. To realize what was truly at stake, or to find a person's understanding of another had been so wrong. 

 

One cannot undo birth, Edward thought morbidly, but one can stop it.

 

Suddenly, to Richtofen’s surprise, Takeo raised his head and approached him with a serious motivation.

 

"Doctor, I'm sorry. In my fear, I doubted your innocence," he spoke with guilt and dug into his pockets. In a balled fist he presented illegible scraps of paper and blurred photos.

"W. What-"

Takeo explained, "I recalled a mound in your garden when you first moved in. I dug searching for a horrible truth, but found only your memories."

Dempsey watched the horror on Edward's face unfold. 

"That's right," the marine whispered lowly, "during the hurricane you told me about burning your old stuff…"

 

The German still appeared terrified.

 

Then, in the most formal bow he had ever done, kneeling and in dogeza fashion, Takeo pleaded. 

"Please forgive me."

 

Richtofen wasn't sure if Takeo was sorry for accusing him, or sorry for digging a mess in his backyard.

 

Later that night, Edward paced the halls, brushing his hand across the suspicious drywall as his usual routine. Tears stung his eyes and pierced tender muscles in self-loathing. 

He needed to know his own horrible truth.

 

There, he slammed a heavy fist into the spot, and a hole bore through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Look, that off-handed character I mentioned over 20 chapters ago made a come back.  
> \- ...Look, that off-handed observation I mentioned over 30 chapters ago also made a come back.  
> \- American healthcare is a nightmare.  
> \- Everyone reacted violently to the previous chapter. I literally had people coming for my life on Tumblr and Discord, you can breathe now.


	45. The Iceberg

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Like sprucing up the titanic before it's maiden voyage."

When Tank knocked on the door, Edward looked more like he'd been sterilizing a medical office than getting ready for thanksgiving. He simultaneously appeared serious in his mission, yet excited from the sight of Dempsey. This aura, a confusing twist of lost intentions in a language thought extinct.

The soldier was startled at first, but swiftly joked, "you going into surgery?"

"Good one, Tank," Edward said flatly.

The marine then presented a broom, and Richtofen took it with gratitude. 

A kiss was also passed as Dempsey smiled, "kinda surprised you don't have one, but it's whatever."

Edward pulled down his dust-mask, and mumbled with frustration, "I put too much faith in the vacuum cleaner."

 

...He didn't want to know.

 

"Want help?" he offered instead.

“Thank you, but I need to do this myself."

The shorter man ignored this as he entered the home anyway, "don't be so serious. It'll be fun."

 

Tank was happy to go on with his sweet-talking as they crossed into the kitchen;

"Ya know, you look good in white. You'd make a pretty good angel."

"Dempsey, please."

"About time god send someone to answer my prayers."

Naturally, he was then in the face with a wet rag thrown across the bar, "wipe down the furniture, Romeo!"

 

Tank could always tell when his partner was in a good mood, and getting shutdown from his tacky advances was always a solid indicator. Richtofen wouldn’t agree with the compliments, but he wouldn’t stop them either. Unknown as an inflated ego or a show of manners, Dempsey still saw this as a challenge to elicit a response. 

Obviously, he learned by now that Edward was good at evading. The silencing power of throwing objects at the mechanic’s stupid head shown very persuasive.

 

The music playing from the TV likewise accented the doctor's calm air. In the kitchen, he swayed gently between footsteps. Almost as if using the tempo to keep time with his actions. 

Autopilot, but thinking of something liberating and wonderful. 

However, this is only how things appeared. 

 

As odd as it sounds, when one is recovering, that's when vigilance becomes most important. Weak and ill, depression strips a man of motivation and energy. But, when one finally climbs from the hole they had spent so long in, they become imbued with a new energy. 

Suddenly, all the cruel fantasies of self-destruction can become more than that. The threat of action increases, and all that was needed was a catalyst.

For Edward, the catalyst was the click that gave him his own purpose; a promise that he could fix everything. Like St. Sebastian, he can become a martyr for fate or faith.

Maybe cease destructive rains?

Or the aching of yellow raincoats?

Or an end to bolt locks and guard dogs?

 

Like death, Richtofen had no clue as to what awaited in the false destiny he had convinced himself of. But that's what was reassuring to a man well acquainted with feeling lost; the uncertainty of it all.

'More like an attempt to justify his suffering for some greater purpose. 

A product of delusions swerving between confusing environments. 

Better than having anguish serve as nothing more than torment.

_...Right?_

 

Had Dempsey known this, he would have intervened by now. However, he was caught up in feeling just as freed. 

With the efforts to voice what he wants, came the realization of his needs: 

For Edward to hold his hand, 

or a trip to whatever fast food place he craved, 

or to share menial secrets? 

All a request for attention, as he never realized he lacked a sense of importance; just as Richtofen had. As though the marine finally deemed himself worthy of his partner. 

Edward would never assume this, naturally. He was simply happy to see Dempsey making way in his own recovery, and found comfort that he had done his job as a proper boyfriend. 

Besides, confidence was a good look for the marine. 

 

"I mean it though," Tank suddenly continued as he started with the bookshelves, "you look great."

"I have you to thank." 

"It's not like you're helpless. Give yourself some credit!" 

Edward smirked, "perhaps, but sometimes one needs a big strong American to coddle them." 

Dempsey smiled from ear to ear; the doctor always a sucker for that game show host's grin. So much, that he felt more like the enticing prize than a stumbling contestant these days. One couldn’t be more completed.

 

When Tank began in the living room, noticed a few new guests sitting on top of the mounted shelves. 

"Takeo?" He assumed by the smiling plants that stretched curious vines.

"Takeo," Edward confirmed with amusement. 

 

As it appeared, the doctor was now the target of the islander's humble gifts. This was destined to happen at some point, however, both were aware that the plants were more like apologies. (Not intended as a means of self-help, as Tank's case was.)

Their interactions these days were mostly Richtofen assuring their peace, too, with Takeo not believing a word. Although, not even the marine could tell if the assurance was genuine. All he knew was that it was hard to watch the discomfort between the once good friends. 

 

As Daisy sniffed at the vibrant green, Tank took one of the frames from the book shelf. He wiped the smudged glass outlining its contours while smiling gently. 

It was the photo of Edward and his family, the one of them by some stone structure, the one Dempsey found on their first date. 

(...Well, not a date, but he liked to think it was.)

 

"I know I said you stick out here, but seeing it now, you really do look like them," he tilted his head inquisitively.

"Really?" Richtofen blinked, excited.

"Yeah! See, your smile looks exactly like your dad's."

Edward put down everything and joined his partner eagerly. He found a similar curl in his father's lip, turning the grin crooked in some charming way.

"You got a posture like your mom, too," Tank pointed, "see how she folds her arms behind her back?"

The doctor observed himself, currently mirroring the stance as he loomed over Dempsey's shoulder.

He laughed, "I never noticed!"

"You and your sister were close too, right?" Tank wondered while setting the frame back in its place.

"We were," he sighed with happy nostalgia, "she was my best friend."

"I would have loved a sister. Or a brother."

Edward playfully messed with his partner's hair, "one of you is enough."

Dempsey chuckles while fixing the messy tangle, before his partner added with more sadness, "I wish I could see them. 'Tell them a proper goodbye."

"...you never told me what happened to them."

"My actions put them on the road when they shouldn't have been."

"All of them?"

"Yes, you think I'd never want to drive again."

"Not like you knew what was coming."

Edward sneered in silence. He didn't want to frame his guilt any longer, and Dempsey could feel his partner's discomfort.

"I think they're already here, anyway," he instead gestured to the living reflection of their legacy; Richtofen himself. 

It seemed as though the German needed to learn family is more that blood over and over again.

His leaning shadow was now draped over Dempsey, "you're too good to me, Tank."

The marine swayed as he was hugged; a lazy dance while holding the arms wrapped around him.

"I'm just buttering you up so you'll let me borrow from your Flannery O' Connor collection," he smirked mischievously.

Edward took one of the novels down from the bookcase, and pressed it to the marine's chest with a funny squint. Though, the older man wasn't quite ready to let go of his dancing partner.

 

An idea struck as the German excitedly pulled away, "do you know how to waltz?"

"Nah, I was just gonna watch a video before Tak and Nik's wedding and see what happens."

Edward nearly looked offended! Immediate action was required! 

"That won't do!" he stood dutifully, and slid the couch out of the way.

"You'll teach me?" Dempsey said eagerly.

Richtofen nodded with self-assurance, and used a remote to switch on an appropriate soundtrack to their romantic display. Seldom would the American turn shy, but now he was the one wishing to disintegrate into the floorboards.

"I'm sure you know how to start at least," the doctor teased and pulled Tank center stage by both his hands.

"Yeah! Yeah, of course," he said with false confidence, and anxiously placed a hand on Richtofen's shoulder.

As innate as breathing, their unoccupied hands laced together. Dempsey noticed he didn't need to adjust to their height difference this time; Edward had naturally accommodated the distance. Doing so was likewise innate for the tall lover.

Soon, he instructed, "now, counting in three, we'll make a box with our steps," and straightened his back. Tank nodded.

 

"And, one-" Richtofen began, but felt a heavy pull resisting the first step. The two had synchronized their movement backwards. 

Dempsey snorted a laugh, "we can't both follow!"

"You need to let yourself take the lead, remember?"

"I'm hearing some ulterior motives to our little dance lesson, Eddie," he rose his brow with amusement.

"Oh, hush." 

 

The pair adjusted, and tried once more.

 

_One, Two, Three,_

 

Dempsey was anxious as he watched his feet.

"Eyes up, Dempsey."

 

_One, Two, Three,_

 

"I don't want to step on you!"

"You won't."

 

_One, Two, Three,_

 

"See, you haven't crushed me to death," Edward mused sarcastically.

His marine chuckles, "don't get too confident."

 

_One, Two, Three,_

 

"Now," the doctor spoke while still moving, "try rolling your steps, like you're trying to walk quietly."

Tank did so, and the older many cheered, "Already a natural!" Dempsey, meanwhile, maintained silence as he focused on timing.

 

The two continued their movements with a graceful tempo. All until confidence inspired the marine to begin circling as though in orbit. It wasn't long until they were lost in one another. 

Here, Dempsey slid his hand to his partners waist, while Edward pressed their chests closer together. Both enjoyed the little advances as they began staring into each others eyes. The aurora borealis on intense blue icebergs. Tiny smiles and flustered blushing painted their faces with love.

 

At last, Daisy moved from the kitchen floor to the couch, eager to watch their fun. That was when she absentmindedly stepped on the remote and switched the station. To the couple's excitement, they found 'come on eileen' just past the intro. 

Suddenly, they were kids again.

Suddenly, the lesson became a free-for-all as they switched into something a little more fun. 

 

The dancing devolved into a swinging of arms as they made wide circles around each other. The couple took turns falling in their own creative fashion, while the other pulled against gravity and back into their arms. They even made a link with their hands, reaching for Daisy to join in. 

Edward forgot how fun it was to slide around on his socks, and his flushed face struggled to breathe as he was picked up and spun. The clever Daisy wove herself between their legs, unable to remain attached, yet excited about the unintentional plan. Dempsey was pleased to kiss his doctor as he burrowed against his tuckered throat.

Eventually, it was difficult for the German to keep up with Tank's stamina, and Edward plopped onto the couch with breathlessness. Tank wasn't far behind as he threw himself on his partner's lap. All coordinated by the song's ending.

 

"Is this seat taken?" he wagged his eyebrows sarcastically.

Richtofen wanted to shove the soldier off, but instead pushed stray hair from those excited eyes, "you know I make a poor cushion, dear."

Dempsey nearly responded, before his dog joined the collapse, and hopped onto her partner's stomach.

"Oof!" He wheezed beneath her large paws.

Edward rewarded her with a scratch behind the ears. Funny how often she forgot her size. Or rather, she was aware, and enjoyed suffocating Tank. His body was a soft place to be after all.

 

"What _actually_ has you so romantic lately?" The mechanic smiled upward, still catching his breath. 

"I've never had a real American Thanksgiving, nor have I entertained company since coming here," he half-lied before blushing, "not to mention; I really, really, want you to know I love you."

Dempsey covered his face and kicked playfully. 

"You know that, right?" The tanned man leaned in closer.

"Of course!"

Edward curled over his partner and pressed a kiss to the sweating forehead, "good."

 

The two were interrupted when they heard needy tapping and scratching from upstairs.

Tank jumped in surprise, “what the hell is that?!”

“It’s just Enoch, she wants to come inside,” Richtofen said with a laugh.

“No more sneaking in, huh?” He rose his brow.

“Thankfully, no. I give her some lunch around this time. She must be hungry.”

However, the German’s calm soon became frantic as Dempsey began standing, “I’ll let her in for you.”

“NOnonono,” he waved his hands and tried to pull his lover back.

“Don’t worry, it’s fine,” he sang cluelessly and dashed upstairs.

 

Edward slammed his face into his hands as he waited to hear shouted profanities, but it was dead silent. He couldn’t even hear the window being opened. All that sounded after was the wild dash of Enoch gliding downstairs, and going straight into the kitchen.

Tank followed down quietly, and joined the living embodiment of fear that watched him with great intensity.

They were both quiet for a long time, until the marine finally gathered himself.

 

He gestured with his thumb to the hallway upstairs, worried, "so, uh, what's with the-"

"Don't ask," Richtofen pinched his temples.

"...I'm already asking."

"I thought there was something inside the wall. A rodent."

“So. You tore it open?”

“...y. Yes?”

"With an axe."

"...that's right."

“That’s a little much, Eddie,” he finally chuckles, easing the awkwardness that winded their shoulders into knots.

“I don’t like vermin,” he breathed a little calmer.

“Bad experiences?” Dempsey joked.

“Not really.”

"Heart under the floorboards?" but this time, the phrase caused the doctor to give pause. 

 

Just then, his clearer mind said: maybe he was so consumed with guilt, that he imagined something that was never there. A heartbeat ringing in his ears with the evidence of what he had done. Like his very own tell-tale heart.

His paranoid self, meanwhile, was now screaming to search the creaking floors. _The floorboards, that's right!_ Perhaps it wasn't where Enoch was looking, but where she was sitting.

_God Damnit._

 

Tank was observant of the curious response, and stroked Edward's cheek, "I'm just playing with ya."

_Damnit,_

_Damnit,_

_Damnit._

"It's kinda funny to picture you going Jack Torrence on a rat's home anyway."

Richtofen simply pulled his lover closer, and whined a long, "Dempseyyyyy," into his shirt. He did his best to hide frustration inside a playful tone.

"Whaaattttttttt," he called back lazily.

"I love you."

"Love you too, angel eyes," he sighed gently into his hair.

 

As they rested a moment linger, Tank’s confidence faltered. Was he talking too much? He felt like he had been talking too much. The mechanic had grown accustomed to being silenced by now, and felt like he was directing the conversation too much. If anything; he was trying to be engaging, not annoying. Though, he knew his frequent need for attention would get that way.

Therefore, he encouraged the German to speak.

 

"Do you still see those holes?" 

"Of course," he nodded simply, still hiding in Dempsey's shirt.

"But are they better I mean? They were getting intense a while back."

"I'm not sure just yet. I can tell you it's easier to manage at least."

"That's something!" He sparked with cheer.

"But don't misunderstand: I don't think I can cure my lifetime disorders," he chuckles, "I'm more focused on these recent ailments."

“Like those migraines?"

Richtofen rolled dramatic, " _gott_ , yes! That’s easily the worst one."

"I would think wandering around in the middle of the night is worse," Tank snickered.

"True, you're right," he agreed attentively.

 

"...this might be weird, but if you _could_ make it so you were never schizoaffective, then, like. Would you?" Dempsey posed the awkward question.

"I'm. Hm. I," he tripped over his thoughts, "I don't know? It's shaped who I am in some ways, but living without it? That would be. Too different."

"Prolly like something is missing, right?"

"I think so," he mumbled pathetically, “but it would be nice to be without trouble it’s caused me.”

“I think so too. About my own damage, I mean."

"It's not like we chose this life," Edward shrugged.

"True. Adapting’s all we got."

Richtofen smiled a little at his partner, "...honestly, it's new to have someone to talk to about this. Not even my family asked many questions about what I see. It's.. nice. To not worry about rejection."

"I like hearing you talk about yourself 'sall. Makes me feel relevant," he smiled back.

"Relevant?"

"Being included."

"Then you're far more than relevant. I don't know how to expand on how grateful I am for you. You're the only man I've known to take me seriously."

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Oh, Dempsey," he laughed brightly and held him closer. The fact that the American didn't understand exposed genuine acceptance.

 

“Did you want to come to my place for dinner?” The soldier asked, “I have some leftovers. ‘Save the cooking for tomorrow and stuff.”

“Of course! I’d like to finish a few things if you don’t mind. What do you have?”

"Some spaghetti, I was hoping maybe-"

"For the last time: there is nothing romantic about sharing a single noodle," Edward deadpanned.

 

\---

 

By the end of the day, Edward was staying the night at Dempsey's place. He didn't want to admit it, but he was growing afraid of the upstairs of his own home once again. In fact, resting wouldn't be an option at all tonight, but at least he would be with his partner. Richtofen was simply lucky that Tank had made the offer. The marine often claimed he slept more soundly with his lover there anyway.

 

Tank had already fallen asleep, and time was lost to the watchful doctor. He counted the rise and fall of the chest which snored so softly. Meanwhile, Daisy remained stretched out at the foot of the bed; harmonizing her breathes with her partner. Edward happily moved closer to Dempsey, and rested his ear against the thump of his heart.

The gentle beat distracted his wandering mind; he didn't want to think if this could be the last time at Tank's place. 

He didn't want to count the holes in the wall either, with teeth at their vicious maw. The spiraling was nails on a chalkboard that agitated migraines.

 

Richtofen never thought he'd say he missed his old hallucinations. From this, he thought himself pathetic, and closed his eyes to block the yawning moonlight. The anxious man had no idea how Tank could sleep so soundly with his window facing the street like this.

 

Nothing would change though; sleep would still evade as usual. 

Edward promised himself first thing tomorrow morning that he would pull up the floorboards. He needed to know so damn badly. Was he trying once again to convince himself he wasn’t wrong? Just like his obsessive summer experiment? To say he's not crazy? Maybe, but there’s no harm in checking. 

Part of him wanted to go home right that moment to get it over with, but Dempsey’s chest was far too comfortable. Daisy was right about crushing him. 

...Besides, there was no fathomable excuse to make that wouldn’t sound suspicious.

 

Suddenly, the thumping heart of his lover's lullaby fell out of time. It began with heavy scattered efforts, and slowly built to a racing speed. Almost as though Dempsey were running a marathon. 

Richtofen shot up and heard desperate gasps, expecting a heart attack. Instead, he found the familiar anxiety of a night terror.

 

Edward looked to Daisy, still asleep, and took matters into his own hands. 

 

As he had done before, he lay his hand on his partner's cheek, and whispered gently.

 

_It's ok, you're safe, I'm here._

 

He still didn't know if talking to dreamers reached them in REM, or if it was for those in a coma. However, instead of reaching him, he wanted to wake him into the kinder reality.

 

_Wake up, you'll be alright._

 

He used his other hand to trail down the marine's tense neck, and further down the now-sweaty arms. Richtofen squeezed here and there to rouse his senses.

 

_I'm here._

 

It worked, too, as Tank slowly began to ease. The American stilled for a moment, before blinking his drowsy eyes.

 

"...Hey, Eddie."

"Hello," he smiled down softly.

Dempsey ran his thumb around the collar of his t-shirt, feeling the gathered sweat, "I woke you up, didn't I?"

He carefully stroked Tank's cheek, "I was already awake."

"...sorry," Dempsey still chuckled sadly, and removed the uncomfortable top. He grumbled something to himself as he did so, but Edward couldn't hear.

"What were you dreaming about?" Richtofen breathed, trying very hard not to be distracted by the handsome body before him.

"Bad memories." 

"Like?"

"Oh you know," Dempsey turned to his side and absentmindedly played with his partner's hands. He failed to elaborate.

"...I promise they can't hurt you." 

Edward reached for the bullet wound on Tank's chest and circled his thumb gently over the leathery keloid. He didn't recoil, and put his hand over his lover's.

"I know, but it feels real.”

"Do they happen when your awake?”

"Be glad you haven't seen that sad display.”

"I thought you put that talk behind you," Richtofen frowned.

"It's true though, I get real. Angry," Dempsey mumbled, " Like I'm walking through a haunted house bracing for something to jump at me. But I'm not scared, I want to fight my way out."

"It's hard to imagine what could scare someone as brave as you."

He scoffed his frustration, and pulled away this time.

"Really!”

"Just a matter of time till you'll get the whole picture." 

"The picture I see is a man who gives so much, and it's time he received."

"I haven't given much besides some help around the house,” Tank snorted.

"That's ridiculous! You've offered patience. I meant what I said earlier, you're the only one to take me seriously!"

"..." 

"And I'm taking you seriously, because I know what it's like to fear something that can't hurt you anymore."

"..." Dempsey reached in his side drawer and took some medicine down his dry throat. He didn't seem convinced by the determination in his voice, but was too tired to argue.

Edward, meanwhile, stood and shuffled through the pockets of his folded jeans. He then returned to Tank’s side and kissed his eyelids closed.

 

"Here," he said softly as he passed something gingerly to the marines hands.

Dempsey rose and looked at the gift with shock, "your knife?"

"It's very important to me, and it makes me feel safe," he said gently, "I want you to hold onto it."

"Eddie, I can't take this. I can't even carry my gun around anymore, I might hurt someone," he spoke very seriously.

"...My mother gave it to me for my birthday. After I tried to. Er. Hurt myself."

"A..knife?"

"It was a show of trust, and now I'm trusting you."

"Eddie-"

"Please. Do this for me."

Tank looked at the sparkling heirloom, and at eyes darker than a midnight sea, and back at the knife, and the gold that spun a silky glow around nothing. 

 

Something felt wrong. Or familiar. To gift something that meant so much? How Edward fixated that his love be known?

This was how all his fellow soldiers spent their days before deployment. All a means of closing a book; expecting a long tour, on nor return at all.

 

Like sprucing up the titanic before it's maiden voyage.

 

Was he saying goodbye just now?

 

Edward continued, "You once called me brave because I try. I see you try too; with Monty, with Daisy." He looked at the napping dog at the foot of the bed, "you just need to lose your shame."

"Not as easy as it sounds," he sighed heavily, "I'll try and walk Daisy with her service vest, but it feels like everyone's staring. 'Try and go to those veteran groups at church, and everyone looks like they want to go home."

"But you try, and that's wonderful."

"Failing isn't that great, though."

 

"... how about we work together, then?"

 

Dempsey looked confused.

"We can start small; try walking Daisy with her vest. If anyone asks, you can say she's mine," he hummed simply, "but I know you'll see that no one will. Because they aren't watching. Or judging."

"You. Would do that?"

"Of course, I thrive on telling others ‘I told them so’ after all."

 

Dempsey hugged Richtofen close with a happy laughter. The doctor could feel him trembling as he did so, but said nothing. Instead, he hugged back and pressed little kisses where he could. Once or twice he focused attention on the stark bullet wound, and nuzzled the space with his forehead. 

 

Tank realized people often didn't put faith in him.

 

"Thanks for looking out for me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- There's a lot of signs people forget to mention about someone potentially hurting themselves; but the biggest ones happen during the "upward" period of recovery. It's an actual thing- feeling better gives a person energy to perform those thoughts. That's why you'll hear "but they've been so much better lately!"   
> So you know. Check in on yourself and friends.
> 
> \- Come on Eileen has this weird aura about it that makes it sad?? Like a last dance or something. It's a happy song though.
> 
> \- The Tell-tale heart is that Edgar Allen Poe story where he kills an old man and puts his heart under the floor. When the police come to ask questions, he starts hearing it, and thinks the cops are hearing it too while playing dumb. It's actually guilt and he confesses.
> 
> \- "If you could get rid of [x disorder], would you?" is a really hard question.
> 
> \- There's about 10 chapters left? I'm still figuring out how to split up the remaining story. Thank you to everyone who's stuck around for so long ;; I'm obv going to say more on this later but: thank yew.


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